


The Prophecy of the Seven

by JayColin



Series: The Prophecy Series [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Character Death, Background Het, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Intersex, Language, M/M, Male Lactation, Male Slash, Mpreg, Multi, Original Character(s), Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Betrayal, References to Depression, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayColin/pseuds/JayColin
Summary: Harry Potter is betrayed and abandoned by the Wizarding World. Found guilty of a series of crimes he didn't commit and sentenced to life without the possibility of parole in Grindelwald's old cell at Nurmengard, Harry quickly becomes depressed with his lot in life and finally begins to see death as his only escape. The Fates, however, have other ideas...
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini, Harry/Harem, Jeremy Norridge/Daeron Targaryen (Son of Aegon V), Relationship Tags to Be Added, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Series: The Prophecy Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186694
Comments: 136
Kudos: 338





	1. The Fates Intervene

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter One:  
The Fates Intervene

-o-0-o-

Hadrian James Potter, Lord and Head of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black, the Right Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor, the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, and the Noble House of Slytherin, The-Boy-Who-Lived, Triwizard Champion, The Chosen One, Master of Death, Savior of the Wizarding World and Defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, sighed as he opened his eyes and was once again hit with the reality of his life.

Fat load of good his impressive collection of titles had done for him. They’d turned out to be more trouble than they were worth in his opinion.

His parents were murdered when he was only a year old, leading him to be raised by his magic-hating muggle relatives. There had been plenty of magical families that would have gladly taken him in as their ward. But the well-intentioned, if ever scheming and manipulative Albus Dumbledore had thought it better he be raised away from magic and fame.

At twenty-five-years-old, Harry had long ago come to terms with his feelings on that. He would have definitely preferred not to grow up without magic in the home of his magic-hating Uncle Vernon, his insanely jealous and bitter that she didn’t have it Aunt Petunia, and his scared nearly shitless of it Cousin Dudley.

The fame, however, well, that was another matter. As a self-reliant eleven-year-old boy coming into the wizarding world for the first time, he’d always hated it. Although, when he imagined how different things might have been if he’d grown up the way many in the wizarding world thought he had he was never able to come up with a scenario where it wouldn’t have negatively affected him.

Forced to develop a good imagination to remain sane on Privet Drive, Harry simply couldn’t imagine, no matter how hard he tried, any scenario in which living in the lap of luxury surrounded by devoted sycophants willing to fulfill his every whim and desire with a simple snap of his fingers didn’t lead him down the path of being a stuck-up elitist snob and prick like—or probably ten times worse than—Draco Malfoy.

So in that way, he was grateful for his late headmaster’s scheming, as it had molded him into an intelligent and self-reliant young man who did not believe that it was the job of others to fulfill his every wish. As far as he was concerned, if he couldn’t rely on himself to get what he wanted, then he didn’t deserve it.

Of course, in the end, all the intelligence and self-reliance had backfired. Perhaps if he’d grown up in a loving home and been allowed to have friends, he might have seen the warning signs before it was too late. Instead, he was left blinded by his devotion to the first friend he’d ever made that he didn’t see the figurative knife coming until it was plunged into his back.

Ronald Weasley, the jealous and bitter sixth son of a dirt poor family, who had almost given up all hope of ever being able to distinguish himself from his elder brothers who had already collectively accomplished pretty much everything that a young wizard could had seen his chance when he ended up in the same year and house as the famous Harry Potter.

He latched onto Harry and did his very best to keep him isolated from others so that Harry hopefully wouldn’t develop too many close friendships. Ron didn’t want to share his meal ticket, after all. At least, not until he’d ridden the coattails of his fame far enough to make the necessary connections to not need him any longer.

Ron had allowed Hermione Granger into what became known as the Golden Trio, but that was only because she proved useful. Harry was intelligent and a gifted student in roughly half of the core curriculum at Hogwarts, while Hermione was strong in the rest of it.

As a lazy student who preferred to do the bare minimum of work, translating to a truly deplorable ability to take notes, Ron was able to use his friendship with Harry and Hermione to ensure far better grades than he ever would have managed on his own.

Unfortunately for Harry, Ron wasn’t the only Weasley who wanted to use him to better position themselves in society. His sister, Ginevra, had also set her sights on Harry as her ticket out of the poverty she’d known growing up. If she had to resort to love potions and compulsion charms to get Harry to see her as anything more than a kid sister, then so be it. She would have his money and titles for herself or her name wasn’t Ginevra Molly Weasley.

Spending most of his final year at Hogwarts and the year that followed under the influence of Amortentia and various compulsion charms up to and including the Imperius Curse—which Harry had found impossible to throw off when cast by the woman the potion made him think he was head over heels in love with—Harry didn’t particularly like remembering that period.

Even though it was during this time that he’d successfully avenged his parents’ murders by finally ridding the world of Voldemort, it wasn’t a happy period of his life, as it ended up being the beginning of the end and what landed him in his present predicament.

Ginny had gotten her heart’s desire as she had married Harry Potter and became Lady Potter-Black-Gryffindor-Peverell-Slytherin. Not that she got to enjoy it for as long as she’d hoped.

Thanks to the potion coursing through his veins, Harry had dutifully taken his wife to bed for some celebratory love-making on the night that Voldemort died, which had also been the evening before his last night as a student at Hogwarts. The result was Ginny happily announcing a few months later that she was pregnant with Harry’s firstborn son and heir.

Unfortunately for her, Ginny suffered a ruptured appendix in her seventh month of pregnancy, which ultimately led to not only her death but that of Harry’s unborn son.

With Ginny’s death, the Amortentia and charms stopped, and Harry’s mind was clear for the first time in almost two years. He mourned the loss of his son, but he couldn’t bring himself to be sad at the loss of the wife he’d never wanted.

Even if he had been able to get past the fact that Ginny looked a lot like his late mother and he thought of her as a sister, she had the entirely wrong set of bits to draw Harry’s desire, as he’d known since he was fourteen that he was firmly in the camp of being attracted only to males.

By this point, Ron had felt that Harry had outlived his usefulness to him, but was content to leave him alone while he was seemingly happily married to Ginny. He loved his sister and wanted her to be happy, after all. When she died, however, he put his plan in motion. A plan which for all of his bashing of them over the years would probably have made a Slytherin proud.

Ron’s plan to remove Harry from the board and be able to step out from his shadow and into the limelight had to wait a couple of years. At least until he had finished Auror training and then managed to plant the right rumors in the right ears and evidence in all the right places.

But finally, his ultimate betrayal, that Harry had never seen coming, happened when Harry was arrested by a team of Aurors, Unspeakables, Hitwizards, and the ICW’s own enforcement forces, over a hundred strong with Ron at the head. Charged with treason, sedition, illegal use of the dark arts, terrorism, murder, and ambitions for world domination.

In what was probably the fastest criminal trial in the history of the wizarding world, less than a month later, Harry was found guilty on all charges and sentenced to life plus 200 years without the possibility of parole. As the only prison in the world that had never had any escapes and successfully held a dark lord for over half a century until his death, a day later Harry found himself abandoned in the same topmost tower cell of Nurmengard that had once housed Gellert Grindelwald.

Harry was pretty sure that was just over a year ago, although it was sometimes hard to keep track of the days. It’s not like he had a calendar in his cell. He’d been stripped of both his wands, his original being snapped, and the Elder Wand being locked away in a vault deep in the ICW’s headquarters in the Hague, along with the cloak and the stone.

The goblin-forged silver manacles that chained him to the wall and only gave him enough space to walk about his small cell were etched with various runes which made even the simplest bits of wandless magic impossible. So Harry couldn’t cast a Tempus Charm even if his life depended on it.

And of course, there was nothing in the cell that could cut through goblin-forged silver, so Harry’s chances of escape were less than nil. Needless to say, this had caused quite a bit of depression on his part. Anger too, although the depression was quickly overtaking the anger and indignation he’d once felt as he resigned himself to a life in solitary confinement.

He actually found himself feeling sorry for Grindelwald because no matter what the man had done, he wasn’t sure that anybody really deserved to spend over fifty years locked away in a cell all alone with his only visitor being a deaf-mute house-elf who popped in once a week to deliver enough preservation charmed food and drink to last him until the next visit.

“I really don’t know how Gellert lasted that long,” Harry said aloud to the empty room. He normally would have kept that to only his thoughts, but in his present situation, even though he’d pretty much given up hope of ever getting out of his cell, he figured it was best to use his voice as much as possible, lest he forget how to speak.

It’s not like he had anyone other than himself to talk to. The first couple of weeks he’d tried to engage the house-elf in conversation, but he had eventually realized that it couldn’t speak or hear a word he said. So, he stopped trying. He also couldn’t call for Dobby or Kreacher, as they were both dead.

Of course, even if they were still alive, Harry was pretty sure that the authorities would have made sure that he couldn’t call on a house-elf, as they wouldn’t want to take any chances of him using one to escape.

Getting up from his small cot, Harry knelt over the chamber pot to do his business. He’d long since abandoned the trousers and underwear he’d been wearing when he was imprisoned. The room was magically temperature-controlled and not having the extra step of pulling down said articles of clothing made using the chamber pot—which was thankfully charmed to vanish the contents after five minutes—a lot easier.

For a brief period after deciding to go fully nude from the waist down he had always covered up with the thin cover on his cot when the house-elf made his weekly visits. After a while, however, he gave up on even that as he just stopped caring. If the house-elf noticed or cared about his state of attire it never showed. He just did his job and left.

Walking over to the cabinet where his preserved food was kept, Harry fixed himself a small meal. Not necessarily a large enough meal to truly satisfy his hunger, but enough to quell any complaints from his stomach for a few hours. Honestly, what was the point of eating well?

It’s not like anyone was going to see that he was beginning to waste away, becoming even thinner and more emaciated than he had ever been at the Dursleys who while they’d never let him eat his fill, had at least fed him enough to ensure they didn’t have child welfare knocking on their door.

Besides, if barely eating and wasting away to nothing let him escape this cell by his own death, as far as his mounting depression was concerned, that was a good thing. He’d already tried to hang himself with the chains that dragged across the floor after him no matter where he went. Unfortunately, they were charmed to prevent him from using them in that way.

After that, he’d tried to use his discarded trousers and underwear and the small sheet on his bed, but unfortunately for him, his attempt coincided with the arrival of the house-elf. With a snap of the elf’s bony fingers, his clothes and sheet were rendered useless as a means of escape, as they would no longer twist in any shape that would allow him to hang himself with them.

A part of Harry wanted to strangle the elf for cutting off his means of escape, but in the end, no matter how far gone he was becoming, he still managed to restrain himself. If only because he didn’t want to be guilty of any of the trumped-up crimes that he was charged with. And despite many wizards and witches seeing them as inferior beings, in Harry’s mind at least, killing a house-elf would still count as murder.

As he tucked into his meager breakfast, he suddenly got the feeling that he was being watched. Which made no damn sense since he knew he was alone in the room. Shaking it off as best he could, he concentrated on eating what little food he allowed himself and drinking the small cup of water. Just enough to take the edge of his thirst, but not completely quench it.

A few minutes later, he’d just finished his repast, stood, and turned to shuffle back to his cot to sleep away a few more hours—it’s not like there was anything else to do—when he saw a dull, pulsating ball of golden light floating in the middle of the room.

Blinking a few times and rubbing his eyes, Harry said, “Great, it’s finally happening. I’m losing my damn mind.”

As he said this, the ball of light got progressively brighter and brighter until Harry instinctively covered his eyes. When the light died down and he lowered his arm, he stared open-mouthed at what looked like a tear in time and space, beyond which he could see a huge, dark cave that was dominated by a massive loom in its center.

Standing to the left of it, was a tall and regal looking woman feeding thread into it, while a second was seated in front of it as she operated it, and a third stood to the right with a large pair of silver shears in her hand.

“Yup, it’s official,” Harry said. “I’ve lost my mind.”

The woman feeding the giant loom looked right at Harry at this and smiled. “No, Hadrian, you’re as sane as sane can be. No matter what you may think, you are not seeing things. My sisters and I really are here.”

“Sisters?”

“I am Atropos,” the woman who’d spoken said, as the woman operating the room looked up and said, “I am Clotho,” and finally the woman holding the shears said, “And I am Lachesis.”

Before Harry could say a word, they spoke as one, “We are the Moirai, also known as the Fates. Maintainers of the Great Weave of Fate since before the dawn of time in this world and every other.”

Harry was quiet for a moment as he digested that. He’d read about the Fates, of course, as one of his frequent pastimes when he’d finished all of his chores was to visit the local public library in Surrey. The Dursleys didn’t care because it meant they didn’t have to look at him for a few hours. Harry had read a lot of books, including several volumes on Greek mythology.

He’d always assumed that the Moirai were just that, however. So seeing them here, now, before his very eyes was disconcerting, to say the least. Either they were actually real which would then suggest that the other gods and goddesses of Greek myth were also real, or despite Atropos’s claims to the contrary, he really had lost his mind. As good imagination or not, he wasn’t sure even he could dream this up.

Clearing his throat, Harry asked, “Other worlds?”

Clotho shook her head, even as she continued her weaving. “You didn’t think that your world was the only one in the multiverse that our grandfather Chaos created did you?”

“Well, I hadn’t really given it much thought, honestly,” Harry said.

He’d read about the multiverse theory before. He’d just never given much thought to the idea that there were an infinite number of other worlds and parallel dimensions. He had enough to worry about in his own.

“Most mortals don’t,” Lachesis said, as she cut a thread with her shears, and Harry remembered that according to legend that meant someone had just died. “Suffice it say that there’s way more out there then you know. Not only in your own universe but countless other parallel universes and dimensions. The possibilities are truly endless.”

“Overseeing all of them is a full-time job for us,” Atropos said. “But then, as immortal goddesses, we’re very good at multi-tasking. Although I suppose given over thirteen billion years to perfect a skill, even the most incompetent of souls would find it hard to mess it up and not learn something along the way.”

“Hmm, yes, one would think,” Harry said. “So, what brings you to my humble abode?”

There may have been a time in which Harry would have been embarrassed or cared one bit that he was standing there naked from the waist down in front of three other people. But that time was gone. Besides, if they really were who they said they were, he rather doubted he had anything that they hadn’t already seen several hundred quintillion plus times over.

“It’s way more than that, young man,” Lachesis said. “Between all the worlds of this universe and beyond, we’re well into the multiple googolplex range at this rate in terms of how many times we’ve seen everything you’re packing.”

Harry was glad that he’d read enough science texts to know that a googol was a one followed by a hundred zeros and that a googolplex was a one followed by a googol zeros. Otherwise, he would have been very confused by that statement.

“Indeed,” Atropos said. “Infinite possibilities and the infinite numbers of worlds and universes packing the multiverse do tend to add up quicker than any mortal would have the time to comprehend in a dozen lifetimes.”

“I know I’m not even going to try,” Harry said, as just thinking about it briefly gave him a headache.

“Good idea,” Clotho said. “Anyway, to answer your question, we’re here because as our brother Thanatos has taken a liking to you, as the Master of Death, and has become a bit of thorn in our collective backsides the last couple of months as he’s watched you waste away in this prison.”

“To finally shut him up,” Atropos added, “we’ve decided to give you the chance to escape by weaving your thread into one of our other tapestries, allowing you to start over from the beginning in a new world and a new life.”

“From the beginning?” Harry asked. “You mean start over as a baby?”

“Yes,” Clotho confirmed. “I’m afraid it’s the only way. We can’t simply weave you into another tapestry and into the mind of a grown man of twenty-five without causing problems. So, you’ll just have to be content with starting over.”

“You’ll retain all of your memories and skills from this life and your magic,” Lachesis said. “Although, access to it will be gradually added to your consciousness as you age, to not overwhelm your new body with too much all at once.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Well, I guess there is a certain appeal to starting over in a new world away from all the people who betrayed or abandoned me to my fate.”

“You have more allies in this world then you know,” Atropos said. “In fact, we’ve recently woven eight of your staunchest supporters who refused to give up on you or their quest to prove your innocence ever since you were imprisoned. Unfortunately, the state of this world being what it is, it cost them their lives in the end, but they were given the same chance that you were and have now already started over or will be in a few months.”

“We kept their birthdays as close as possible to this world,” Clotho revealed. “So a couple of them won’t be born for a few months after you if you decide to take us up on our offer. But you will have people you know from this world in your new life, even if you won’t know who they are until you meet them and talk for the first time. As none of you will look the same or have the same names and backgrounds as you do in this world.”

“Hmm, interesting,” Harry said. “I don’t suppose you can tell me anything at all about who I’ll be or this world I’ll be going to?”

“We’ll leave most of the details to you to figure out on your own,” Atropos answered. “However, in a nutshell, your new world would be quite a bit different from this one. There are some similarities, but it’s also vastly different in that you’ll no longer even be on Earth. You will be human and living among other humans, but the geography, cultures, and history of your new world will be completely foreign to you.”

“We do believe, however, that if you give it a chance, you will be vastly happier there than you currently are here,” Lachesis said. “Not that it’s hard to be happier outside of a small dingy prison cell than in it.”

Harry didn’t really have to think for very long. “Well, I guess I might as well. It’s not like I’ve really got anything to lose that I’ll miss. If I never see the inside of this cell again it’ll be far, far too soon.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that while your new world does have fortresses and castles,” Clotho said, “Nurmengard is not one of them. So the chances of you ever seeing the inside of this cell again are highly unlikely.”

Even as she said this, she stopped the loom in front of her and a moment later the massive tapestry that Harry was sure would fill the Great Hall of Hogwarts several times over was ejected. It folded up into a neat pile and then floated over to a nearby shelf as a second tapestry floated over and was loaded into the loom.

Harry watched fascinated as a single thread came loose from the previous tapestry and Atropos fed it into the loom, with Clotho busily weaving it into place a moment later.

“Our work here is done,” Lachesis said as she opened her shears and placed it at the far end of the thread that now connected the two tapestries. “Enjoy your new life, Harry… or perhaps I should say… well, no, I’ll leave that to you to discover.”

Even as the Moirai and their loom disappeared from view, the now empty husk that had been Harry Potter dropped to the floor as dead as a doornail, since his soul was no longer a part of this world.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have Ch1 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. Yeah, I know what many of you are thinking. Seriously?! Another one?! Curse the Muses if you like, but I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for months now, prodding at me, begging me to write it and I just kept postponing it because I have enough stories already started.
> 
> The Muses were particularly insistent lately, however, and seemed unwilling to give me any rest or inspiration on my other works until I got something down for this one. Don’t know if writing one chapter will work before I can return to my other works or if I’ll have to write more than one. Obviously, this will be more than one chapter, but, how many remains to be seen.
> 
> You’ll no doubt be able to tell based on the tags where Harry will end up, so feel free to make any guesses you’d like. Not a canon character, so you know, although definitely a canon family.


	2. A New Life

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Two:  
A New Life

-o-0-o-

The man formerly known as Hadrian James Potter in another life, blinked as he woke up in his spacious and luxurious bedroom. It had been fourteen years now since he’d accepted the offer of the Fates and left his old life on Earth behind in favor of a new one in a new world.

He hadn’t really had much time to think about what his new life would be like and the Fates hadn’t exactly been forthcoming on the details. They instead kept it vague and said they’d let him find out on his own. He should have recognized the giant, neon red flags waving then.

Before meeting the Fates, he’d often joked that he was Fate’s Bitch. Because it always seemed to him that if something could go wrong in his life, it was going to. Almost as if somebody was pulling the strings and making it happen.

In the years since starting his new life, he’d occasionally fantasized about what his life in this world could have been like. It had certainly been a bit of a culture shock as he grew up and realized the kind of world he was now in.

Gone were all of the modern muggle conveniences of the twenty-first century such as cars, high-speed rail, telephones, television, computers, and the internet. He only realized after they were gone how much he’d taken them for granted. Even as a wizard, he’d lived mostly in the muggle world between the death of Ginny and his son in 1999 and his arrest and imprisonment in 2002.

That was one thing that he’d realized about his old life as his memories started to come back to him. His depression had been clouding his mind and judgment. So he’d seriously misjudged how long he’d been in prison. The day the Fates turned up at Nurmengard, he’d been thinking it was about a year. It had actually been three.

One of his favorite fantasies for his new life was that he was the son of a poor, but hardworking fishmonger and his seamstress wife. Nobody knew who he was and they didn’t really care. Nice and simple. No major responsibilities or duties beyond the day to day life.

To some that might sound boring, but he thought it would have been a nice change from the seemingly endless duty and responsibility that had come along with being nobility several times over. A life where he could just fade into the background and live his life in nice, quiet, and peaceful anonymity.

Unfortunately, the Fates had not seen fit to give him that. In fact, now that he’d met them and heard what their voices sounded like, he could actually picture them laughing at him.

If they knew he didn’t want the responsibility of being nobility, well, they moved in the wrong damn direction. He wasn’t nobility in this life, he’d give them that.

No.

It was worse.

Way worse.

They’d up and made him royalty!

And not just royalty of some small backwater kingdom. No, because he really truly was Fate’s Bitch apparently. So, of course, it bloody had to be royalty that ruled over seven kingdoms that spanned almost an entire continent.

Prince Taeron Targaryen. The firstborn son of a secondborn son, so he should be safe. Okay, he was royalty, but he was never going to have to take the throne. Right? Wrong.

The current king and the one before him were both fourth-born sons. In fact, Taeron’s grandfather was known as King Aegon V the Unlikely due precisely to the fact that nobody expected history to repeat itself as it had with Taeron’s great-grandfather, King Maekar I.

Still, Taeron’s father, Jaeherys Targaryen, was the secondborn son, so he should have nothing to worry about. Except that he did, because, duh, Fate’s Bitch, and of course he did.

Taeron’s uncle, Duncan Targaryen, was the eldest son… except he’d renounced his claim on the throne two years before Taeron was born because he refused to set aside his commoner wife, Jenny of Oldstones, whom he’d married for love. This had caused difficulties with House Baratheon, as a couple of years earlier, Taeron’s grandmother, Queen Betha, had arranged a betrothal between Duncan and Lycella, the daughter of Lord Lyonel Baratheon.

Lyonel was furious at the perceived insult to him and his house and proceeded to renounce his fealty to Aegon V and named himself the Storm King. His rebellion was short-lived, however, as he was soon defeated in a trial by battle by Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Duncan the Tall, who Prince Duncan was named after and Aegon V had squired for as a young boy.

So, with his Uncle Duncan’s renunciation of his claim, that placed Taeron’s father first in line to the throne, which meant that Taeron was the second-in-line. All Taeron could hope for was a long reign for his grandfather and father so that when his time came it wouldn’t be for many long years from now.

The flaw in that plan and hope, however, was that Taeron’s father had been plagued by ill health since birth. Thankfully, Taeron had an ace up his sleeve which so far had seemed to do the trick in that he had magic, which he’d used to bolster his father’s ill health.

He’d spent much of his childhood wondering if maybe the Fates made a mistake when they weaved his thread into the new tapestry because they’d said he’d retain his magic. Yet by the time he was approaching ten years old in 251 AC, he hadn’t demonstrated even the tiniest of signs of having any.

That all changed one afternoon, however, when Taeron was out riding in the Kingswood with his uncle Prince Daeron, his best friend, Ser Jeremy, and two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Duncan, and Ser Gerold Hightower. They were on their way back to King’s Landing after a very nice, relaxing ride when their party was suddenly set upon by a gang of bandits.

Attacking a royal party within less than a mile of King’s Landing was bold and stupid. But then ever since the last of the dragons died in the reign of Taeron’s four-times-great-granduncle Aegon III the Dragonbane, there seemed to be no shortage of stupid people.

Of course, this time it wasn’t looking good. While Duncan and Gerold were among the best swordsman in the kingdom, Ser Jeremy a decorated knight, and Prince Daeron also an accomplished swordsman, they were still outnumbered three to one. And that was without counting the three leaders of the band, who were wearing face-concealing helmets in the shapes of a rat, a hawk, and a pig.

At only ten, while Taeron had gotten sword lessons and shown great promise, his trainers hadn’t yet deemed him proficient enough to allow him to carry a sword outside the training yard. Of course, he suspected that his parents might have exerted some influence on that decision. So, as Duncan and Gerold fought off their attackers, Daeron and Jeremy stayed back with him, engaging anyone who got too close to protect not only themselves but Taeron as well.

To say that Taeron had been scared out of his mind would have been an understatement. After a few minutes of pitched battle, with Duncan and Gerold both fighting three bandits at once and Jeremy and Daeron both fighting one each, Taeron noticed another coming up behind his uncle.

Even as Taeron had cried out, “Uncle behind you,” he’d felt something coming alive deep in the very core of his being and he couldn’t help but smile. A split second later, even before Daeron could react to his nephew’s warning, the would-be attacker was flying through the air and into a nearby tree, dropping his sword at Taeron’s feet in the process.

Bending down and picking it up, Taeron brought it up and stopped the blade of the fighter that his uncle was fighting, as he’d growled, “Leave my uncle alone!”

The bandit had just laughed at him, but he’d quickly stopped laughing when the blade of Taeron’s sword burst into flames and he opened the palm of his offhand to reveal a small fireball.

 ** _‘Well, that’s new,’_** Taeron had remembered thinking at the time, as it was definitely not something he’d ever done in his old life, but there was no way in the seven hells that he was about to complain.

In that moment, he’d felt the magic coursing through his veins at a level that he hadn’t felt since before his arrest and imprisonment as Harry Potter in his old life. Of course, even then, he had still needed a wand to control and direct his magic, but that didn’t seem to be the case any longer.

Daeron was surprised, of course, especially after Taeron decided to light his uncle's sword aflame as well, but wisely chose not to question the unexpected development while there were still enemies about. Instead, he’d given his nephew a quick grin and nod, before he’d reentered the fray.

Taeron always had been Daeron’s favorite nephew, not that he said that aloud, lest he hurt the feelings of his other nephews, including Taeron’s little brother Aerys and Daeron’s sister Rhaelle’s sons, Steffon and Kevan Baratheon.

Of course, the feeling was entirely mutual, as Daeron was also Taeron’s favorite uncle, not that he’d ever actually say that since, like his uncle, he didn’t want to hurt the feelings of his Uncle Duncan or his Aunt Rhaelle’s husband, Lord Ormund Baratheon of Storm’s End.

Between Ser Duncan, Ser Gerold, Ser Jeremy, and Princes Daeron and Taeron, despite being outnumbered, it wasn’t long before all of their attackers were either dead or too badly injured to continue fighting. Of course, the flaming swords of the two Targaryen princes and the younger of the two flinging fireballs had certainly evened the odds quite a bit.

Some had tried to flee, but Taeron managed to catch them all with a stunner to the back. It wasn’t long after the fight ended that Ser Gerold’s young squire, who had been riding next to him carrying the royal banner and who Gerold had ordered to ride on ahead and get help only seconds before the ambush started, had returned with a company of the royal and city guard.

Moments before their arrival, however, having the feeling that he should keep his powers a secret from the wider world, at least for the time being, Taeron had focused his mind and calling on his magical training from his past life he silently Obliviated all of their attackers so that they wouldn’t remember the flaming swords or fireballs. With a thought, he also repaired any scorch marks.

Taeron had not, however, opted to Obliviate the two Kingsguard knights, his uncle or Ser Jeremy, deciding to trust them with his secret.

Shaking his head to clear it of his woolgathering, as his bladder let him know that it needed attention, four-and-ten-year-old Taeron pushed his bedsheets aside, swung his legs down off the bed and slipped his feet into the satin slippers next to his bed. It was currently winter and like many old stone castles, Maegor’s Holdfast could get very cold.

As he passed the fireplace on his way to his ensuite privy, he waved a hand at the fireplace which was still burning but had died down a bit while he’d slept. Taeron smiled as the flames intensified.

After relieving himself, Taeron headed back into his room and over to a bookcase to the left of the fireplace. Tapping a finger against a hidden button, the bookcase opened up to reveal a room behind it that he had added using Wizard Space to expand a small hidden compartment that had previously been no larger than a broom cupboard.

Stepping in and closing the bookcase behind him, which automatically locked the entrance into his bedroom so that nobody could come in unexpectedly and find him missing, Taeron stripped out of the knee-length fine linen nightshirt that he wore to bed.

While the Targaryen family’s apartments within Maegor’s Holdfast did have two private bathing rooms—one for the men and another for the women—most days Taeron preferred to bathe alone.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he and his Uncle Daeron tended to wake up at the same time each morning. Or that if Taeron used the men’s bathing room he’d be bathing with his uncle that he had a crush on.

Yeah, totally, nothing whatsoever to do with it. That was his story and he was sticking to it, damn it. Of course, he knew that other than the possibility of getting embarrassed by popping a boner in front of his uncle that nothing was going to happen between them.

True, his family didn’t have any qualms about incest. As proven by the fact that Taeron’s parents, Jaeherys and Shaera were brother and sister. Talk about something which had required some mental gymnastics for Taeron to reconcile in his mind.

No, the real reason he knew that nothing was going to happen between him and his uncle was—other than his uncle being over a decade older than him—because what he didn’t know back when he was ten but knew now was that Ser Jeremy was a lot more than just his uncle’s best friend.

Anyway, his preference to bathe alone was why he used magic to design his hidden room to be a slightly smaller-scale version of the Prefect’s Bathroom back at Hogwarts.

A sunken tub dominated the center of the room, with twenty golden taps surrounding it. Running water from a tap wasn’t really a thing in Westeros, mainly because it hadn’t been invented yet, but there were magical workarounds to that issue.

Having retained all of his memories from his life as Harry Potter, Taeron didn’t need much practice or training once his magic had awakened, as he’d already had a full seven-year Hogwarts education and obtained Masteries in both Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms.

This was actually a good thing since magic was not a very common thing in Westeros, so it’s not like there actually was a wizarding school for him to get training at. It wasn’t completely unheard of in this new world, especially in the more distant reaches of Essos, but getting somebody to instruct him on magic would not have been a simple matter.

As for the taps, ten of them were charmed to cast the Water-Summoning Spell when turned on. Taeron had further charmed all of them to his preferred temperature, so all he had to do was turn the taps and the tub would start filling up. The other ten taps were charmed to add bubble bath in ten different colors to the tub.

As a general rule, Taeron never turned on more than one of the bubble taps at a time. On this particular morning, he chose the one that would fill the tub with bubbles that matched the color of the dragon of House Targaryen’s sigil.

To one side of the large tub was a series of shelves holding glass jars and pots of hair oils and other grooming essentials for the highborn, including a collection of fine-milled castle soaps.

As he waited for the tub to finish filling, Taeron made his way to the full-length mirror and looked at his reflection. The face he saw looking back at him was definitely quite a bit different from that of Harry Potter. Gone was the wild and untamable mop of black hair, Lily Potter’s green eyes, and his famous scar.

Instead, his hair was a pale, nearly white-blond which reminded him of Draco Malfoy’s hair and his eyes were a light shade of lilac. Both of them known indicators of his Valyrian ancestry in this life.

As for the rest of his body, he was far more toned and muscled than he’d ever been as Harry Potter. But then as Harry, the only sword he’d ever touched was Godric Gryffindor’s, and that was only briefly. He’d never had any reason to learn how to sword fight in his old life, unlike this one, where it was very much a necessary and expected skill for someone of his station.

Thus between sword and archery training, Taeron had developed muscles in places that as Harry he hadn’t even known that muscles existed. The fact that he’d also never dealt with malnutrition in this life had also very like helped.

Once the tub had finished filling he lowered himself into it for a relaxing morning soak, as his mind wandered. Given his previous thoughts, he wasn’t surprised to find himself thinking back to the aftermath of his magical awakening when he was ten.

-o-0-o-

Arriving back at the Red Keep, the royal party was not surprised to see King Aegon V and Queen Betha, along with Prince Jaeherys and Princess Shaera standing on the steps outside the entrance waiting for them. Word of the attack had no doubt reached them after the royal and city guard was dispatched to assist.

The moment she saw Taeron, Shaera rushed forward and pulled him into a hug. “Oh my sweet boy, I’m so happy to see that you’re okay.”

Taeron smiled. “I’m fine, Mother.”

As Shaera let go, Taeron found himself being pulled into a hug by his one and only grandmother, Queen Betha, as she added, “We were so worried when we heard about the attack.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Daeron asked.

“Of course not, son,” Aegon said, as he gave him a one-armed hug. “You’re an adult and were armed, however. We know you can handle yourself. Taeron, however…”

“Handled himself very well,” Daeron said, before lowering his voice and adding only loud enough for his father to hear, “though I believe that a family meeting is necessary.”

Seeing the serious look in his youngest son’s eyes, Aegon nodded and corralled everyone into the Red Keep. Half-an-hour later, the immediate Targaryen family, plus Sers Duncan, Gerold, and Jeremy were sitting in Aegon’s private solar.

Taeron’s seven-year-old brother Aerys and six-year-old sister Rhaella were not included for fear that due to their young ages, they might not be able to keep a secret. Rhaelle was also not present, but then she obviously lived with her husband at Storm’s End and couldn’t get up to King’s Landing in only half-an-hour.

“What is this about?” Prince Duncan asked from his place on a chaise next to his wife.

“Well, I already said that Taeron handled himself very well,” Daeron said. “However, there was a very unexpected development.”

“What kind of development?” Aegon asked.

Deciding it best to just show them, Taeron said, “This,” before he raised both hands and opened them to reveal a pair of small fireballs floating over his palms.

“By the Seven,” Betha muttered.

Knowing that he couldn’t tell his new family about his old life, as family or not he was pretty sure that they’d all think he was nuts. Especially given the Targaryen family’s history with madness.

Banishing the fireballs, Taeron said, “Yeah, it would seem that I have magic.”

“It just appeared today?” Jeremy asked after everyone was silent for a few minutes, as they digested this information.

Of course, those who were present had caught glimpses of both princes wielding flaming swords and the young prince’s use of magic, but in the heat of battle, they didn’t pause to give it much thought.

Nodding, Taeron said, “Yeah. Never had it before today.”

Technically that was true. While he’d had magic as Harry until today Taeron Targaryen had never had it. Well, he supposed that he’d always had it, but it was just dormant until today.

 ** _‘Oh Merlin,’_** Taeron thought. **_‘This whole living two lives thing can get confusing. Especially since I’m only fourteen and yet I have over thirty years of memories.’_**

“Is making a fire in your hands the only thing you can do?” Jenny asked.

Deciding to test the extent of his powers in this life, Taeron focused on an empty goblet and thought the necessary incantation. A second later, it was floating above the table, to the shock of everyone present.

 ** _‘Levitation Charm, check,’_** Taeron said. **_‘Hmm, I wonder…’_**

With a thought, the floating glass floated up to the ceiling, moved over so that the table it had been sitting on was no longer under it before it suddenly dropped. It shattered upon hitting the stone floor.

Everyone jumped at this, but before anyone could say anything about the broken glass, their eyes widened as they watched the shards coming together. A second later, the glass was back on the table and showed no signs of ever having been broken.

 ** _‘And Repair Charm, check,’_** Taeron said, before he got a wicked grin on his face and turning his eyes toward his Uncle Daeron, he thought of the incantation for the Dancing Feet Charm.

Daeron soon found himself dancing around the room and unable to stop no matter how hard how he tried. “I know I’m not doing this, so, Tae, make it stop.”

“But you’re so light on your feet,” Taeron said, with a grin. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please, Taeron?” Daeron asked, and then since the others weren’t in the room and wouldn’t hear him say it, he added, “You’re my favorite nephew.”

“Oh okay,” Taeron said, as with another thought Daeron stopped dancing.

A second later, Taeron found himself in his uncle’s arms, as Daeron messed up his short blond hair and said, “I can see that we’re going to have our hands full with you from now on.”

Moving his head away from his uncle’s hand, he said, “Okay, okay, leave the hair alone or I’ll make you start dancing again.”

Daeron immediately stopped and backed away. It was clear he wasn’t afraid, however, as the good humor was clearly present in his expression.

Wanting to try something else, Taeron moved over to his father and reaching out, placed both of his hands on either side of his face. Closing his eyes and concentrating on the strongest general healing charm he knew, his hands glowed for a second, before he opened his eyes and smiled.

Jaeherys was looking decidedly less pale and sickly than he had a moment earlier.

“I…” Jaeherys started, before pausing to take stock. “Feel better than I think I ever have in my life.” Locking eyes with his son, he asked, “I don’t know what you did, but thank you,” before pulling him into a hug.

“What did you do?” Betha asked as she looked at her secondborn, very pleased to see the seemingly constant ill pallor of his skin gone. He was still fairly pale, as many Targaryens were, but his skin no longer had the greyish tinge of illness that it usually had.

“I’m not sure,” Taeron said, lying. “I just concentrated on wanting Father to be healthy.”

“Well, it seems to have worked,” Aegon said. “How do you feel, Jaeherys?”

The Crown Prince grinned. “Like I could run a mile. Seriously, I’ve never felt this healthy before.”

“Well, don’t overdo it, son,” Betha said. “Maybe work up to that run.”

After a few more minutes of everyone happily commenting on the apparent reversal of Jaeherys’s health and hoping that it would last, Aegon cleared his throat. “How are we going to approach this moving forward? While I’m pleased that Taeron’s dragon blood apparently includes the sorcery of Old Valyria, it’s not exactly a common gift these days. And many might view him with distrust if they knew.”

Daeron nodded. “Yes, I had the same thought, which is why I thought we should have this meeting, so we could figure out as a family what to do.”

“I won’t say that Taeron should stop practicing,” Betha said, after a moment of thought. “But, perhaps it would be best if he did so in private or only around us, for the time being.”

“I can do that,” Taeron agreed. He knew that magic wasn’t exactly a common everyday occurrence in Westeros.

True, there were the occasional sightings of hedge wizards or woods witches. Tales of greensight and warging ability from the North. And, of course, there were the reports of warlocks, the priests and priestesses R’hollor, and Asshaian shadowbinders, but since the deaths of the Targaryen dragons, the vast majority of people in Westeros lived their everyday lives without even the smallest hint of magic being a thing.

The last thing that Taeron wanted was to be seen as a freak, like with the Dursleys in his old life.

“Should we make any quiet inquiries?” Betha asked. “About somebody who can teach him?”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Prince Duncan said. “It adds the risk of exposing the secret, so if we want to keep this quiet for the time being…”

He trailed off, but then Taeron had a thought. “We should question some of the bandits that attacked us. I’m not sure if it worked, but just before the reinforcements arrived, I concentrated on magically making them forget what they saw.”

-o-0-o-

As it turned out, Taeron’s attempt to Obliviate all of the bandits and their leaders had worked like a charm. Not a single one of them remembered anything out of the ordinary, other than the fact that they were routed by a vastly smaller force.

Within days of the attack, the three leaders of the group were charged with treason and publicly executed to send a message that you couldn’t attack the royal family and escape unpunished. The others who’d survived were loaded onto one of the supply ships bound for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea so that they could take the black.

Aegon figured that it didn’t make sense for them to waste away in the cells and he doubted being captured would make them give up banditry if they were released. At least up on the Wall, they might be able to do some good with their lives.

-o-0-o-

Finishing his bath, Taeron drained his tub, toweled off, and left his private bathing room. Since the entrance—both the door and the secret passage that connected to the escape tunnels—to his bedroom magically locked while he was in said room, he wasn’t the slightest bit worried about putting on clothes, so he was completely naked as he opened the bookcase and left the bathing room.

There was a knock on his door a few seconds later, just as he stepped behind his dressing screen.

“Prince Taeron?” a voice called out, which Taeron recognized as one of the Kingsguard, Ser Harlan Grandison.

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Ser Harlan,” Taeron called out. “I’m just getting dressed.”

The knocking stopped and Taeron continued getting dressed. When he was finished, he called out, “Enter.”

A moment later, the door opened and Ser Harlan came in to see Taeron sitting on a chair in front of his fireplace.

“Your grandfather asked that I let you know, my prince,” Harlan said. “A raven arrived from the Citadel.”

“A raven?”

“Yes, my prince,” Harlan confirmed. “A white raven.”

Taeron smiled. “Thank you, Harlan.”

The knight nodded, before leaving the prince to his thoughts.

Taeron was happy because it had been getting warmer over the last turn or so and the winter snows were melting. While it didn’t snow as heavily in the Crownlands as it did further north, it was still noticeable when the snows disappeared and the temperatures began warming enough to get people thinking that maybe the change of season would be coming soon.

Due to the strangeness of the seasons, at least when compared to his first life, this would be the first spring that Taeron was old enough to remember in his fourteen years. He was actually born in 241 AC, which was the second year of a spring that started in 240 and finally ended in the first turn of 243 AC.

This had been followed by a summer that lasted just over six and a half years, ending a fortnight after his eighth nameday on the 30th day of the Seventh Turn. It had been a crisp autumn day in 251 AC when his magic first bloomed. Winter arrived later that year and had persisted ever since.

 ** _‘Well, it’s finally over,’_** Taeron smiled, as he remembered the promise he’d extracted from his grandfather on his thirteenth name-day last year. Aegon had agreed that Taeron could take a grand royal progress of Westeros and visit all seven kingdoms once the Citadel had sent out the ravens to proclaim that spring had arrived.

Smiling, he stood up and left his room to go have breakfast with his family and make sure that his grandfather remembered his promise.

He was hoping that in his travels, he might finally meet the other eight people from his old life that the Fates had mentioned sending here. He suspected that he already knew who one of them was, even if he didn’t know who they were, but he’d yet to have a chance to confirm it.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, Ch2 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven.’ So, Harry is Prince Taeron Targaryen, and the elder brother of Aerys, who will obviously never become the Mad King in this story, since he’d have to actually become the King for that to happen.
> 
> I considered a few different timelines for the story, including one which would have seen it starting during Rhaegar’s teen years and even one that would have seen it starting during the reign of Aegon the Conqueror.
> 
> After some thought, however, I picked the current period, as I felt it was far enough removed for the period that Through the Eluvian is set, but also still in a period where some of the more recognizable characters can still show up. They just have to be born first. Although I'll likely be playing with the timeline a bit to potentially make some of the recognizable characters born earlier than they were in canon. It's also possible that some of them might have different parents in this story compared to canon.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter


	3. The Royal Progress Begins

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Three:  
The Royal Progress Begins

-o-0-o-

Before Taeron could even open his mouth upon entering the room that his family gathered in each morning to break their fast together, Aegon held up his hand to his grandson, and said, “Before you ask, Taeron, yes I remember my promise to you. That’s why I sent Ser Harlan to inform you the moment that Grand Maester Taranis informed me that the white raven had arrived from the Citadel.”

Taeron smiled as he sat down at the table and asked, “So when can I leave?”

Daeron smiled. “Peace, nephew. I know you're anxious to leave, but it’s going to take some time to arrange everything you know. While we may have suspected that spring was approaching, it wouldn’t have been wise to start making plans until it was confirmed by the Citadel.”

“Your uncle is correct, Taeron,” Jaeherys said. “And while your mother and I will be sorry to see you leave, we understand your wanting to actually see all the kingdoms that you’re going to rule one day.”

“Can I go too?” eleven-year-old Aerys asked.

“And me?” ten-year-old Rhaella piped in before anyone could say anything.

“I’m sorry, Aerys, Rhaella, but no. You’re both far too young,” Shaera answered. “I’ll be worried enough with Taeron being gone from King’s Landing. I don’t need to be worrying about the two of you on top of it. I don’t know that my heart could take it.”

“Your mother is right,” Betha said. “You’re both far too young.” When it looked like both children were going to argue, Betha looked at them sternly and added, “End of discussion.”

Aerys and Rhaella both returned their attention to their plates and didn’t say another word. They knew better than to argue with their grandmother. It never ended well.

“So, have you given any thought to where we’re going first?” Jeremy asked, a few minutes later, from his place at the table next to Daeron.

“We?” Taeron asked.

Daeron nodded. “Yes, we. Your grandfather has asked that Jeremy and I accompany you on your progress. Along with Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn.”

“You’ll also have a permanent armed escort drawn from here in the Crownlands that will accompany you on your entire trip,” Aegon added. “With each Great House temporarily adding to your escort while you’re within their region’s borders. With two princes in the group, one of whom is the second-in-line to the throne, I refuse to take any chances with your lives.”

“It was also the only way that your mother and I would allow you to go in the first place, Taeron,” Betha added. “With the size of the host, you’ll be traveling in, any band of highwaymen or bandits who got it in their heads to attack you would have to be madder than your Granduncle Aerion.”

Everyone at the table nodded, including Aegon, even though the late Prince Aerion was his elder brother. But then it was undeniable that anybody who would willingly drink wildfire was simply not right in the head.

“I figured we’d travel overland to Storm’s End first since it’s the closest capital,” Taeron answered Jeremy’s question. “Then over to Summerhall and make our way down into Dorne to visit Sunspear, before taking a ship to Oldtown.”

“Sounds doable,” Daeron said. “I suppose you’ll want to go to Highgarden after Oldtown.”

“Well, we probably should, yes,” Taeron said, as he gave an apologetic smile to his uncle.

He knew that it might be a little uncomfortable for him since his former betrothed Olenna Redwyne was now Lady Olenna Tyrell of Highgarden.

Pausing to take a sip of his drink, Taeron added, “I wouldn’t wish to risk insulting the Tyrells by visiting the Reach and not visiting their capital.”

“Indeed,” Aegon said. “A wise decision. I assume from Highgarden you’ll be going on to the Westerlands?”

Nodding, Taeron said, “Yes, I figured Lannisport and Casterly Rock would be the next stop and then up to the Iron Islands to visit with House Tully of Pyke. From there on to Seagard and then on to visit the main branch of House Tully in Riverrun, before heading for the Vale by way of Harrenhal. Visit the Arryns at the Eyrie and then take a ship from Gulltown up to White Harbor, to visit the Starks in Winterfell and then Granduncle Aemon at Castle Black. And then back to King’s Landing from Eastwatch-by-the Sea.”

He did want to go on a tour of the Free Cities of Essos at some point, but he wasn’t going to push his luck that he’d be allowed to do so immediately after the progress around Westeros which would very likely take upwards of a year to complete.

“Well, it seems you’ve planned your whole trip already,” Jaeherys said, an amused grin on his face.

Taeron looked slightly sheepish as he said, “I had a lot of time to think about it and after grandfather promised, well, I wanted to be ready to go as soon as possible once spring arrived.”

“You have my word, Taeron,” Aegon said. “We’ll put everything together for you to go as soon as possible.”

-o-0-o-

A little over a fortnight later, the morning sky was almost black from the number of ravens sent out from King’s Landing. Aegon had Grand Maester Taranis send one to every keep and castle that was near the planned progress route to let them all know of the impending royal progress.

Obviously, the kingdoms further down on the itinerary had an advantage in that they had far more time to prepare after the long winter than the ones who were at the beginning.

Although to make it easier on them, several wagonloads of supplies were going with the party to not only make sure that they were well equipped and provisioned on the road but also to help supply the feasts that would no doubt be held in most if not all the holds. Supply ships with further supplies would also be sent out from King’s Landing to the various port cities along the progress route.

Additional ravens would be sent out as the royal party progressed through each region, giving the lords of each region some advance warning of when to expect the royal party and let them know of any delays.

Of course, it was another sennight before everything was ready and Taeron got the go-ahead from his grandfather to leave King’s Landing. At least part of the delay had been simply to allow the ravens time to reach their destinations and to give Ormund Baratheon time to raise some of his banners so that he could have soldiers waiting at the border between the Crownlands and the Stormlands to join the royal progress once it got that far.

Hugging his mother and grandmother goodbye and shaking hands with his father and grandfather, Taeron smiled, as he said, “Yes, Mother, Grandmother, I’ll be sure to write.”

“You’d better,” Betha said.

Shaera nodded and said, “I swear by the Seven, Taeron if I don’t get at least one raven a turn from you…”

“You’ll find us waiting for you in one of the ports ready to drag you back to King’s Landing by your ears,” Betha finished for her daughter.

A second later, Betha turned to Daeron and said, “That goes for you too, young man, and no I don’t care that your 30. Write to me or you will regret it.”

“Yes, Mother,” Daeron said as he bussed her on the cheek.

Shaera shook her head and said, “Keep an eye on my brother and my son, Jeremy. Make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.”

Jeremy grinned. “Of course,” even as Taeron and Daeron indignantly exclaimed, “Oi!”

From where they were standing nearby, Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn could be seen suppressing grins at the princes' reaction. Being over a decade older than the Dornish prince, Ser Gerold was more successful at doing so but those that knew him well could still see the slight grin on his face.

With the goodbyes out of the way, Taeron, Daeron, Jeremy, and the two Kingsguard that would be accompanying them moved down the steps of the Red Keep and into the courtyard where their horses were waiting.

In addition to numerous wagons full of food and other supplies, there were five-score men-at-arms, four-score cavalry—split between light cavalry and heavier-armed lancers—an additional two-score knights, who each had at least one squire mounted next to them, and a score each of bowmen and crossbowmen.

Looking back at the assembled host, Taeron grinned, “Well, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with bandits this time around.”

Jeremy grinned. “I should certainly hope not.”

Nodding, Daeron said, “Yes, they’d have to be incredibly stupid bandits with a death wish.”

“Especially since Lord Ormund will be providing us with additional escorts once we reach the border,” Prince Lewyn said.

After a moment, Daeron said, “Well, Tae, this is your progress, so lead us out.”

Taeron grinned as he raised his hand and made a forward motion with his hand to signal everyone to get ready to move out, before grabbing the reins on his pure white horse and leading the way out of the courtyard. Prince Lewyn took up position to his right, about half a horse-length behind him.

-o-0-o-

After riding for two hours, the party stopped in the Kingswood about five to six miles outside of King’s Landing to give everyone who was mounted the chance to get off their horses and stretch their legs a bit. The break also allowed anyone who needed to relieve themselves a chance to do so and for the supply train and unmounted soldiers to catch up a bit with the mounted contingent.

An hour later, they were back in their saddles and moving once again. They stopped an hour later for the midday meal, before mounting up and riding for another two hours before stopping in a large clearing to make camp for the night.

“By my estimation, we’re now about fifteen miles outside of King’s Landing,” Daeron said, as he brushed down his horse. About ten feet away, a couple of the servants traveling with them were busily setting up the royal pavilion.

“Sounds about right,” Taeron agreed as he brushed his own horse and removed the saddle. “So about 370 more miles and we’ll be at Storm’s End.”

“Oh joy,” Jeremy said before he lowered his voice so that only Taeron and Daeron would be able to hear it and said, “Seriously though, Tae, thank you for the cushioning charm on my saddle. Made the ride a lot more comfortable.”

Daeron nodded. “That it did. Honestly, if I’m going to have a sore arse and be walking funny, I’d much prefer it to be from riding Jeremy then from my horse.”

Jeremy flushed red at this, as he surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone had heard his husband’s comment. Thankfully, it seemed that nobody had or if they did, they didn’t pay any attention. Taeron, meanwhile, just laughed as he finished brushing down his horse.

-o-0-o-

On the morning of their eleventh day out from King’s Landing, having now traveled approximately 135 miles—leaving another 250 miles or so to travel before they reached Storm’s End—Taeron awoke to the sound of light, but steady rain. He doubted anyone would want to travel in it, especially those walking, so he decided that they’d stay encamped for the day.

Swinging his legs down off his cot in the royal pavilion, Taeron sighed as he looked down and saw the small bloodstain. That was definitely something which had taken him by surprise about two months after his twelfth birthday when he had his first period.

It seemed that this particular version of Westeros that the Fates had sent him to had a few very distinct differences from the world that he had known as Harry. Beyond the immediately obvious differences in technology that is.

One of them Taeron had learned was that a portion of the populace, roughly a third or so, himself included upon reaching the age of twelve or thirteen developed a secondary gender, in that they had the fully functioning reproductive systems of both genders.

In his lessons with Grand Maester Taranis, Taeron was instructed that in truth the secondary gender didn’t just spontaneously develop in the twelfth or thirteenth year. Instead, it was the belief of the maesters that it was present from birth, it just laid dormant until the onset of puberty.

It was a person’s primary gender which determined their outward physical appearance. As a primary male, secondary female, Taeron looked and sounded male in every respect. The only real exceptions were that he had a much harder time growing body and facial hair and his hips were slightly wider to aid in childbearing.

The maesters had come to the conclusion that the ability for some to have the fully-functional reproductive systems of both genders was semi-magical. It didn’t necessarily mean that a person had enough magic to actually cast spells the way that Taeron could.

Those with the ability to cast spells had been dwindling ever since the death of the last dragon, which the maesters had pinpointed as the point when the magic began to die in Westeros. The maesters believed the secondary gender to be a semi-magical ability because the rates at which people developed them had been falling since the death of the last dragon.

Several speculated that within the next hundred years or so, barring some unforeseen change in the variables, that magic—and the ability of individuals to have both reproductive systems—would be completely gone from Westeros.

 ** _‘I suppose I might be an unforeseen change in the variables’_** Taeron thought. **_‘The grand maester doesn’t know I have magic or that contrary to the idea that magic has been getting weaker in Westeros since the death of the last dragon, mine has been getting stronger.’_**

When Taeron’s magic bloomed at ten, it was almost as strong as it had been when Harry was twenty-five years old. In the six years since then, Taeron had only gotten stronger, both physically and magically.

When his magic first bloomed, even though it felt as strong as it had in Harry’s mid-twenties, Taeron had still tried to limit himself to the simpler spells. Things he’d learned in his first or second years that he could easily do without a wand. Things he’d already learned how to do wandless in his old life.

It had been so ingrained in his head that he needed a wand that he’d subconsciously not cast any spells that he hadn’t already been able to do without one. The only exception to that had been the healing charm he cast on his father, as his desire to prolong his life and not be king was strong enough to ignore his subconscious.

As he got older and more confident, however, he started doing the harder and move advanced magics. Things that were said to be impossible to do without a wand. Taeron was surprised but pleased to find out they weren’t.

Standing up, Taeron moved over to his clothing trunk that had been moved from one of the supply wagons into the pavilion when they made camp. Opening it up he grabbed a fresh pair of smallclothes and the Westerosi version of menstrual pad, which consisted of several alternating layers of cotton and linen stitched together.

That was one major difference from his old life. Harry had known since he was fourteen that he preferred men and right around the same time, he’d also learned that wizards could get pregnant. The difference was that they didn’t actually have a functioning female reproductive system. Their magic combined with their partners magically created a uterus to carry the baby in, but a magical cesarean section was still necessary to get the baby out.

In this life, however, that wasn’t the case. Males who had a secondary female reproductive system were fully equipped with a natural uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, and a vagina. He supposed that by the terms of his old life, that made him intersexed. Not that he’d ever read or heard it called that in Westeros.

Since he was primarily a male, it was his male reproductive system that was dominant and it was the one that was active for eight months of the year. For the other four months, as best as he could reason out in his mind it was like a magical switch somewhere in his body was flipped which switched his hormone production from testosterone to estrogen.

The primary gender was still dominant and producing the female hormone did not alter his appearance in any way. It just allowed his secondary reproductive system to function. For most of the year, the muscles in his vagina were so tightly constricted that it was essentially sealed shut. Nothing was going in and nothing was getting out, so it may as well not even be there.

It was only in every third month that his secondary reproductive organs started working. The bleeding started out very light and sporadic at the beginning of the cycle, with Taranis saying it was essentially the body’s way of letting the person know that the system was active.

It would stay light and sporadic for about a fortnight, which was apparently the time that he had the best chance of conceiving before it got heavier as the body prepared for the system to shut down for two more months.

His penis could still get hard during this time and be used for sex, but when the secondary reproductive system was active, the primary was rendered inoperable. So he’d essentially be shooting blanks and thus could not sire children during the time he could become impregnated.

Assuming that he ever actually did get pregnant, it would render him infertile in terms of the primary system for the duration of the pregnancy. From his classes with the grand maester, he also knew that after a successful pregnancy in a primary male, the secondary system would shut down for an equal amount of time to the pregnancy, allowing his body time to recover before it was possible to get pregnant again.

Of course, even during the period when he was supposedly the most fertile, he still had a lesser chance of conceiving than a female. From years of study, the maesters had concluded that in those males that had the secondary system, they had a fifty percent lower chance of conception than a female. So, the chance was still there, they just had to try far more often if they wanted to be successful.

Using magic to get rid of any evidence of his time of the year starting up, Taeron changed his smallclothes, put the pad in, and proceeded to get dressed.

Twenty minutes later, he grinned as someone tried and failed to get out of his uncle’s and Jeremy’s section of the pavilion which had been curtained off to give them some privacy. Of course, when they went to bed last night they’d made it clear that sleeping wasn’t the first thing on their agenda. So Taeron had spelled the curtains shut and erected silencing charms.

With a wave of his hand, the curtains unsealed, at which point Jeremy walked out into the main section of the large tent with Daeron following not far behind.

“Good morning,” Taeron asked before he grinned, winked, and asked in a lascivious tone, “Sleep well?”

“Yes, very much so,” Daeron said as he sat down next his to nephew and bumped shoulders with him. “I know we’re not in King’s Landing, but once we’re back, are you sure I can’t tempt you with a visit to one of the brothels? It’s not natural for a boy your age to be celibate.”

“No thank you, uncle,” Taeron said. “I think our family has quite enough of an issue with the Blackfyre bastards. So I’m not gonna risk siring or carrying any.”

“He has a point, Dae,” Jeremy said, as he joined them at the table. “We both fought in the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion, remember. True, it was put down quickly and Daemon II died, but there’s still at least one Blackfyre out there.”

“True,” Daeron said. “Maelys I believe. The ugly one.”

“Ugly though he may be,” Taeron said, “from what I’ve heard he’s also the most dangerous of the bunch. When he finally decides to follow in his family’s footsteps and try to take the Iron Throne, it’s gonna get bloody.”

“Indeed it will,” Jeremy said. “But let’s talk about more pleasant things, shall we? No point worrying about him until we have to. Last I heard, he’s still over in Essos and hasn’t had much luck rallying support for his claim. That could change, but until it does, he’s a threat but not an imminent one that we need to be overly concerned with for the time being.”

“Agreed,” Taeron said. “Anyway, it seems we’ll either be getting a late start today or we may just end up staying encamped. Depends on how long this rain lasts, I guess.”

-o-0-o-

The rain lasted most of the day, finally letting up around the time that they would normally have been stopping to make camp for the day, so they decided to just stay encamped for the rest of the day. That would hopefully give the ground time to dry out since the Kingsroad was still just a dirt road. So it was a nightmare to have to pull wagons along or walk on if it was muddy.

Despite the unscheduled rest day, they traveled for another two days, journeying approximately thirty more miles, before they made camp to rest of the fourteenth day of their trip. It was on this day that a merchant’s caravan heading for King’s Landing passed by their camp.

Finishing off quick letters home and sealing them with their personal sigils, Daeron and Taeron asked the merchant in charge of the caravan if he could see the letters were delivered to the Red Keep when he got to the city. The merchant happily agreed since not only was he going to King’s Landing, but his family had always been staunch supporters of the Targaryens dating all the way back to the days of the conquest.

As the merchant caravan disappeared from sight, Taeron said, “Well, at least mother and grandmother can’t say we aren’t writing.”

Daeron nodded, a grin on his face before they headed back into their pavilion for dinner.

-o-0-o-

Over the next three days, they shaved approximately another forty-five miles off of their travel time, leaving them 175 miles from Storm’s End. Making camp for the evening on the Crownlands side of the Wendwater river, the royal party settled in for the night.

Even though he’d heard the stories before, Taeron happily listened as Daeron and Jeremy recounted their experiences at the Battle of the Wendwater Bridge, which was the decisive battle that crushed the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion in 236 AC.

Queen Betha had nearly gone spare with worry when her husband had ridden off with all three of their sons to put down the rebellion. She wasn’t too worried about Duncan, as he was eighteen and had proven himself in a couple of tourneys and received his knighthood.

Jaeherys and Daeron, however, at only fourteen and eleven respectively were still squires. Jaeherys under Ser Duncan the Tall and Daeron as Prince Duncan’s squire only promoted from a page about six turns before the rebellion.

Thankfully for King Aegon’s manhood, all three of their sons made it back to King’s Landing alive and in one piece. Shortly afterward, Jaeherys was knighted by his father for his excellent performance on the battlefield, despite his chronic ill health at the time.

Daeron had also done very well, but Aegon agreed with his wife that their youngest son was at only eleven still a little too young to be knighted. Even Jaeherys was on the young side, although he wasn’t the youngest knight in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

Ironically, it was actually the founder of House Blackfyre, Daemon I Blackfyre, that currently held the record for the youngest knight, being only twelve years old when he was knighted by his father, King Aegon IV.

Daeron and Jeremy did, of course, later get their knighthoods, both being knighted within a turn or so of their respective eighteenth namedays. Of course, Lord Runceford Redwyne of the Arbor was somewhat vocal in his disapproval of Daeron being knighted only a fortnight after he broke the betrothal to his daughter Olenna to be with his male lover.

Everyone who had been present at the Battle of Wendwater Bridge and the handful of tourneys held since then, however, agreed that the broken betrothal was not enough to disqualify Daeron from being knighted. Especially since he, like Taeron, had a functional secondary reproductive system.

That was why two years later, the High Septon happily presided over the wedding of Prince Daeron and Ser Jeremy. The Faith of the Seven usually took a very dim view of two males or two females being together, but then that was mostly due to their doctrine stating that non-procreative sex was a sin.

Since Daeron was capable of both siring and bearing children, however, there was an exception in the doctrine that allowed him to marry a person of any gender he wished, since sex that could result in children was a possibility.

-o-0-o-

On the morning of the eighteenth day, which was a planned rest day, Prince Lewyn stepped into the royal pavilion.

“My princes,” as he bowed to Taeron and Daeron.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my name, Lewyn?” Taeron asked.

Nodding, Daeron said, “Yes, you’re a prince too, last I checked.”

“At least once more, my princes,” Lewyn said.

“You say that every single time,” Taeron said. “One of these days I’m just going to order you to call me Taeron and have you flogged if you don’t.”

Now if only Taeron had been able to say that with a straight face, maybe Lewyn actually would have taken him seriously. Unfortunately, whether it was in this life or his other one, Taeron was not all that good at masking his emotions. He was working on it, but it was a skill that he hadn’t quite mastered yet.

“So what can we do for you Lewyn?” Jeremy asked as he shook his head at his husband and nephew-in-law.

“I thought you’d like to know that our scouts have spotted a large party moving towards our position on the other side of the river,” Lewyn relayed.

“Were they able to identify them?” Taeron asked.

Nodding, Lewyn said, “Yes, my prince,” prompting Taeron to roll his eyes. “Most of the banners depict a crowned black stag on a field of yellow. Except that is, for the banner of the person leading the party, which depicts two crowned black stags combatant on a field of yellow.”

Taeron raised an eyebrow at this, as he knew that Lewyn knew the sigils and could have just told him who they were. He was smart enough to know, however, that the Kingsguard was testing him on his sigil knowledge, which was an important thing for him to know.

“Hmm, House Baratheon coming to meet us then,” Taeron said. “And if I remember my sigils correctly, the two crowned stags combatant is the personal sigil of Lord Ormund’s younger son Kevan, chosen after he was knighted last year.”

Daeron smiled. “Correct.”

“You doubted me, uncle?”

“Did I say that?” Daeron asked. “I know better than to doubt you.”

“Finally,” Jeremy said, as he rolled his eyes. “How much money have you lost to him now?”

“127 golden dragons and ten silver stags, but who’s counting?” Taeron asked with a grin, as he remembered the several times that he and his uncle had made a friendly wager over the years… only for Taeron to win again and again.

Daeron scowled. “You apparently.”

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s Ch3 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. Decided to do things a bit differently in this universe to how I’ve handled Mpreg in the past, so it’s not just due to magic. And yes, there are women who are the reverse of Taeron and Daeron.
> 
> Oh and in this story's universe, Aegon the Conquerer made the Tullys Lord Paramount of the Trident and the Isles. So there's two House Tullys, the one in Riverrun and one in Pyke. So the Greyjoys are not a Great House in this story. They still exist, they're just vassals of House Tully of Pyke, who themselves are vassals of House Tully of Riverrun.
> 
> Anyway, next chapter we’ll meet Kevan Baratheon, the son of Ormund and Rhaelle and younger brother of Steffon… who doesn’t exist in canon, so make of that what you will.
> 
> I’ve begun putting profiles for this story up on my wiki, https://stories-by-jayson.fandom.com/wiki/, and I am actually using my Facebook account now to provide posting updates. All my posts are friends only and my settings are currently a friend of a friend, but if you’re not already friends with anyone on my friends list and want to be, message me and I can temporarily change the setting.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter


	4. Reunion

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Four:  
Reunion

-o-0-o-

It was about an hour after Prince Lewyn informed Taeron, Daeron, and Jeremy of the approaching party that they arrived. The majority of the Stormlander host set up camp on the Stormlands side of the Wendwater, while Kevan, his squire, and the guard his mother insisted travel with him made their way over to the Targaryen camp.

“Ser Kevan Baratheon, son of the Lord of Storm’s End, my prince,” Ser Gerold said, as he entered the royal pavilion. His squire, Julian Estermont, who was the younger brother of his brother Steffon’s wife Cassana, and his guard, Ser Adam Penrose, chose to wait outside.

Smiling at Kevan, Taeron said, “Well, I’d reciprocate on the introduction, but we already know each other, don’t we, cousin?”

Daeron grinned, as he added, “And I’m sure you know your own uncle.”

Kevan smiled as he took the seat at the table in the center of the pavilion and nodded. “Indeed. Well met, cousin, uncles.”

“You’ve certainly grown since the last time I saw you,” Daeron commented. “But then, I believe that was last autumn.”

“Yes, it was,” Kevan confirmed. “We didn’t come up to King’s Landing for the Winter Tourney in 252 since both mother and Cassana were pregnant. So, it’s been four years and young people do have a way of changing over time.”

Everyone looked a bit sad at the mention of Rhaelle’s third pregnancy, as unfortunately, it had ended with a stillborn daughter. The maester of Storm’s End strongly advised Ormund and Rhaelle not to try again, as it had been a difficult pregnancy and had visibly weakened her. He made it clear that in his opinion there was a strong possibility that Rhaelle would not survive a fourth pregnancy.

Wanting to keep the conversation on more pleasant things, Jeremy said, “So it would seem. You’ve gained like six inches in height if I’m not mistaken.”

“Seven actually,” Kevan corrected. “I was about two or three inches shorter than average for my age when we last met. Thankfully, I caught up.”

“So how’s the family?” Taeron asked.

“They’re all doing well,” Kevan said. “Mother is excited that you’re coming, has been talking about it almost nonstop since the raven arrived. And Steffon is looking forward to introducing you to his sons.”

Daeron sighed. “Yes, that’s right, your brother just had to go and make me a granduncle didn’t he?”

Kevan grinned. “Twice over now. Robert was born in 252 and Stannis in 254.”

“No doubt that part of the reason that Rhaelle has been talking about our visit so much,” Jeremy said, “is because she intends to have a talk with you Dae. About why you and I haven’t popped out at least one child yet. Considering that she’s only five years older than us and has two grown sons and two grandsons now, while we still have none.”

Daeron groaned. “Is it too late to turn the progress around and go back to King’s Landing?”

“Yes, uncle,” Taeron said. “You’re welcome to go back alone if you want. But then you’ll have to explain to mother and grandmother why you left me to continue on alone.”

Daeron was quiet for a moment, as he just looked at his nephew. “You know Tae, you’re lucky that I like you. Or I’d have to resent you for putting me in these uncomfortable positions. From my sister pestering me to have kids to in a few turns from now visiting Highgarden and coming face to face with my ex-betrothed, the Queen of Thorns herself.”

“Well, I don’t know why you and Jer haven’t had kids yet, honestly,” Taeron said. “I mean, you’re not getting any younger, old man.”

“Old man?!” Daeron exclaimed. “I’ll show you old.”

Before Taeron could react, Daeron had taken him over his knee and proceeded to spank him, as Jeremy and Kevan laughed. Of course, they weren’t the only ones, as Taeron was laughing too… although whether that was because he kind of liked getting spanked or because he’d just cast a charm on Daeron’s bum to cover it in red, blue, and white in the shape of the Union Jack only the Seven knew.

-o-0-o-

Later that evening as Daeron and Jeremy were getting ready for bed, Daeron had just pushed down his smallclothes as he preferred to sleep in the buff when Jeremy burst out laughing upon seeing his husband’s arse.

Looking over his shoulder at Jeremy, Daeron quirked a brow and asked, “What are you laughing at?”

“You. Or more specifically your arse.”

“I thought you liked my arse.”

“Oh I do, babe, I like every single part of you,” Jeremy assured. “Although, your arse is usually not those colors.”

“Colors?” Daeron asked as he grabbed a hand mirror before moving over to stand in front of the full-length mirror in his and Jeremy’s sleeping quarters.

He supposed that normally, one wouldn’t have a full-length mirror on hand while sleeping in a tent. However, there were certain perks to being royalty, and having some of the more portable pieces of furniture in his tent was one of them. Especially since his nephew had been nice enough to charm the glass to be unbreakable.

Positioning the hand mirror so that he could look at his arse in the full-length mirror, Daeron’s eyes widened as he shouted, “I’m going to kill him!”

Thankfully, Taeron had gotten in the habit of placing silencing charms on his uncles’ section of the tent, so nobody but Jeremy heard that little outburst.

Before Daeron was even halfway across the room, however, Jeremy caught him in his arms, as Daeron protested, “Let me go!”

“Daeron, calm down,” Jeremy said. “You know our nephew is mischievous and you did take him over your knee earlier.” Shaking his head, he added, “Besides, I did promise your sister that I’d keep you out of trouble and I’m pretty sure that killing her son would count as trouble.”

“Damn you for being logical,” Daeron nearly whined. “I wanted to stay mad at the little waif.”

“I hardly think that particular word is appropriate for the Crown Prince’s son,” Jeremy said. “He’s not homeless or neglected and you know as well as I do that your sister would abandon him over her dead body.”

“Again with the logic! Stop it! You’re killing my anger!”

“That’s kind of the point,” Jeremy said, as he moved so that he was standing in front of his husband and thrust his hips forward, pushing their cocks together. “Now because I love you and I don’t want to have to visit you in the Black Cells or at the Wall, I’m going to give you something else to think about.”

“Jeremy… mmph,” Daeron said, as whatever he was going to say was cut off as Jeremy pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t long before any thoughts of killing his nephew were gone from Daeron’s head, completely forgotten in his quest to touch as much of his husband’s body as he possibly could. Not that Jeremy was about to complain.

-o-0-o-

The next morning the camps were packed up and the royal progress continued through the Stormlands. Over the next six days, they traveled approximately another ninety miles, leaving only 95 miles left until they reached Storm’s End.

At the end of their sixth day since crossing the Wendwater River, the camp, now larger thanks to the Baratheon contingent, was missing a few of the tents. Namely the royal pavilion, Kevan’s tent, and the tent shared by Gerold and Lewyn.

Of course, the reason for this was because they’d reached Bronzegate, the seat of the Stormlander House Buckler. So rather than have their tents set up, they were instead staying inside the castle as the guests of Lord Raymond Buckler and his family.

At Taeron’s insistence, he and Kevan were sharing a room. Taeron and Kevan were first cousins, after all, and Taeron also wanted to use this opportunity to see if his suspicions were true or not. When Kevan’s back was turned, he silently put up a silencing charm so that they could talk in private.

“Suspicions? What suspicions?” Kevan asked, once they were alone and Taeron told him the reason he wanted them to share.

Taeron smiled, before asking, _“Pouvez-vous comprendre ce que je dis en ce moment?”_

Kevan’s eyes widened as he realized that Taeron wasn’t speaking in the Common Tongue but in French. It took him a second to translate it to, _‘_ _Can you understand what I'm saying right now?’_

Stunned speechless for a moment at hearing a language he hadn’t heard in years, Kevan finally responded with, _“Oui je peux. Mon français est un peu rouillé après des années de ne l'utilise pas, mais… qui êtes-vous?”_

As it had been with Kevan when Taeron asked his question, it took Taeron a moment to translate what Kevan said to, _‘_ _Yes I can. My French is a bit rusty after years of not using it, but ... who are you?’_

Taeron grinned and said, _“Puisque je suis un prince et que vous ne l'êtes pas, vous d'abord.”_

Kevan rolled his eyes, as he translated what Taeron said— _‘Since I am a prince and you are not, you first.’_ — and decided it wasn’t worth it to argue that his mother was a princess since that didn’t matter. As the son of Lord Ormund Baratheon, he wasn’t a prince no matter who his mother was.

Deciding to play with Taeron a bit, Kevan grinned and said, “ _Je m'appelle Kevan Baratheon._ _”_

When Taeron looked at him exasperated and like he was about ready to throw something at him, he added, _“D'accord, d'accord, ne vous fâchez pas. Je m’appelle Cedric Diggory.”_

Taeron’s eyes widened, as he didn’t even bother to translate what Kevan had just said in his mind and instead stood up. Crossing the room in two steps, Taeron grabbed Kevan and kissed him hard on the lips, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his arse to prevent him from getting away.

To say that Kevan was shocked would be an understatement. After a moment he managed to push Taeron back just enough to break the kiss and ask, _“Qui êtes vous? Et vous pouvez parler en anglais. Je l'ai testé une fois avec mon frère Steffon. Il m'a dit d'arrêter de parler charabia.”_

Taeron grinned, as he grabbed Kevan’s arse and squeezed, even as he said, _“Cedric, it’s me. Harry Potter. And I put up a Silencing Charm on the room, so we don’t even have to bother with English. Nobody’s going to hear us anyway.”_

Kevan’s eyes widened, but instead of responding, he pulled Taeron into another kiss, just as hard as the one that Taeron had first given him. Their lips were likely to be bruised, but at that moment he really didn’t give a shit. That’s what healing charms were for, after all.

After several more minutes, they finally came up for air, as Cedric placed his hands on Taeron’s face and spent a minute just looking at him, before shaking his head. “You sure look a lot different.”

Taeron smiled. “I could say the same about you.” Shaking his head, he added, “You know when the Fates told me they’d sent eight other people here, I never expected that you would be one of them. Not when you’d been dead for over a decade when they sent me here.”

“Eight?” Kevan asked, clearly surprised. “They told you they’d sent eight other people?”

Nodding, Taeron said, “Yeah. What did they tell you?”

“Just that I was being given another chance at life,” Kevan said. “Beyond that, not much, except to encourage me to take them up on their offer.” Shrugging, he added, “I figured I had nothing to lose. I mean when the Fates appear and start talking to you, it’s something you kind of sit up and take notice of, even in the afterlife.”

“What’s it like?”

Guiding them over to the bed and sitting down, Kevan sighed. “Sorry, don’t know. As a guess maybe it’s because I was just a spirit while there, but other than my visit from the Fates, I don’t remember anything from the time that I was dead. Before the Fates, my last memory from my old life is the graveyard.”

“I was devastated when you died,” Taeron said, as the beginnings of tears could be seen gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I… I sought comfort in other people’s arms. I’m sorry… I…”

Kevan cut him off as he wiped away the tears, “Hey, no, Taeron, none of that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I died. I would not expect you to take a vow of celibacy when you were fourteen. All I ever wanted was you to be happy. Sure, I wanted us to be happy together, but since I was dead, I would still have wanted you to find happiness.”

Taeron nodded and took a few minutes to compose himself. When it looked like he had, Kevan asked, “So, what happened after I died?”

Shaking his head, Taeron said, “A ton. First off, the strange bundle that the guy who killed you was carrying?” Kevan nodded. “It was Voldemort in a rudimentary body. After you were dead, he performed a rebirthing ritual to give him his body back, summoned his Death Eaters, dressed them down for not searching for him, and then practically ordered me to duel with him. Not that he intended for it to be a long duel, considering that his very first spell was the Killing Curse.”

“Bastard,” Kevan said. “So, is that when you died and came here?” After a moment, however, he shook his head and said, "Wait, no, you said I'd been dead for over a decade when they sent you here, so you couldn't have died then.

“Correct, I survived that duel,” Taeron said. “Turns out that my wand and his both had a tail feather from Fawkes—Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix—as their cores. So when his Killing Curse hit my Disarming Charm, it triggered the Reverse Spell Effect.”

Taeron spent the next hour and a half telling Kevan what had happened after his death as Cedric. Everything from the nightmare that Hogwarts had become in fifth year under Delores Umbridge, to the revelation of the prophecy, Snape killing Dumbledore at the end of sixth year, the horcrux hunt over the summer between sixth and seventh year, everything.

“So you did it? You killed Voldemort?” Kevan asked.

Nodding Taeron said, “Yup. It was the culmination of the Battle of Hogwarts towards the end of my seventh year. I’d already destroyed all of his Horcruxes, save one. Neville took care of the last one by beheading his snake, Nagini, with Godric Gryffindor’s sword. We dueled and he died.”

“Did anyone else die?” Kevan asked, almost afraid to know, but wondering if maybe it would give them a clue as to who the other seven people the Fates had sent to Westeros were.

They’d told Harry they’d sent eight people and he assumed he was one of those eight. Of course, they had no way of knowing if any of the people that had died during the Battle of Hogwarts were among the people the Fates sent. Or even if it was limited to just the eight people that the Fates had told Harry about.

Kevan had found them to be infuriating vague when he’d met them, despite them strongly encouraging him to take them up on their offer. So, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if they hadn’t been entirely truthful to Harry about the number of people they’d sent to Westeros. Time would tell, he supposed.

“Professor Snape, for one,” Taeron revealed. “It turns out that despite appearances, he was still loyal to the Order. By the time that Narcissa made him swear the Unbreakable Vow that he would kill Dumbledore if Draco couldn’t, he’d already sworn one to Dumbledore himself to kill him when asked.”

“Why?”

Taeron sighed. “Snape was able to slow down the progression of the curse from the Horcrux that withered Dumbledore’s hand but it was only temporary and they both knew it. He was dying and it have been an excruciatingly painful death if left to finish him naturally. The Killing Curse was a mercy.”

“Wow,” Kevan said. “Anyone else?”

“Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown,” Taeron named. “Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, and Fred Weasley, and about fifty others that I don’t know the names of.” Shaking his head and heaving a heavy sigh, he said, “This is going to sound bad, but instead of Fred, I seriously wish it had been his sister Ginny. Or Ron.”

Kevan screwed up his face in confusion at this, “Why would you say that?”

Taeron sighed and began explaining what had happened. Kevan looked angrier and angrier the more he heard.

When Taeron stopped talking, Kevan shook his head. “What a bitch. And Ron, world-class jerk.” Shaking his head, he added, “I can’t believe it actually went that far. That you ended up at bloody Nurmengard of all places. And in Grindelwald’s cell as if you were a Dark Lord. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s done and obviously I’ve moved on,” Taeron said. “I could have done without the whole royalty thing and my parents being brother and sister, but oh well, I guess there’s not much I can do about that.”

“Well, Taeron, I’m here for you now,” Kevan said, as he wrapped his arms around the younger man. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“At least until the progress eventually leaves Storm’s End.”

“You think I’m not going to be right there at your side when that happens?” Kevan asked. “Taeron, I’m seventeen and I was knighted by the bloody High Septon himself. Do you honestly think that I’m going to accept no for an answer if my parents try and say that I can’t go with you?”

Taeron smiled before he thought of something. “Do you still have your…”

“Magic?” Kevan asked, guessing what Taeron was going to ask, as he turned over the palm of his hand and revealing a small ball of lightning in his hand. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, it does,” Taeron said, as he repeated Kevan’s action and produced a fireball. “I can do every spell that I learned in my old life perfectly fine in this one and all without a wand. Although I have noticed that fire-based magic seems to be the easiest for me.”

“Well, you are a full-blooded Targaryen, so I guess it makes sense,” Kevan said with a grin. “I’m half Targaryen, but I guess my Baratheon Stormlander blood took precedence because I’ve found that lightning-based magics seem to work best for me.”

“Is the fact that we’re first cousins in this life going to be an issue?”

Kevan raised an eyebrow at that. “Honestly? Your parents are brother and sister and you’re asking if I’m going to have an issue with you being my first cousin? Besides, as I’m sure you well know, the Faith of the Seven only forbids incest in the case of siblings or parents. It doesn’t forbid cousins of any degree.”

After a moment of silence, he added, “They don’t particularly like _homosexuals_ ," saying the last word in English since there was no Common Tongue translation, "not that that word even exists here in Westeros, but it’s not a problem because I’ve got both reproductive systems in this life.”

Taeron laughed. “Well, I guess we can get married someday. I’ve got both too by the way,” before he blushed and said, “and am currently in my time of the year.”

Kevan grinned. “I bet you were probably as shocked as I was.” Taeron nodded his head emphatically. “Last moon was my time of the year. Not that I’m ready for children quite yet. I mean, I know a lot of people have children young here. Steffon and Cassana were only sixteen when Robert was born, but personally, I think I’d prefer to wait until my twenties at least before I bring any children into the world.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Taeron said, after a moment, asked, “I’m very tired, but could you just hold me?”

“You have to ask?” Kevan asked before they stood up long enough to strip out of their clothes, although they both left their smallclothes on since it was Taeron’s time of the year, before pulling back the covers on the bed and getting in.

Snuggling up so that he was spooning Taeron from behind, Kevan kissed the prince’s temple and smiled. It wasn’t long before they were both fast asleep.

-o-0-o-

After spending two days at Bronzegate, it was time for the royal progress to leave and continue on their way to Storm’s End. Saying goodbye to the Bucklers and thanking them for their hospitality the royal party mounted up and headed out at the head of the combined Crownlands and Stormlands host.

As they were leaving, two ravens took flight from Bronzegate’s rookery. One flying towards King’s Landing with letters from Taeron and Daeron, as they weren’t sure if the merchant had delivered their letters or not. He was known and well-respected, so they figured he would, but thought it better to be safe than sorry.

The other raven was flying in the direction of Storm’s End, to give them advance warning of the impending royal progress’s arrival in approximately a sennight.

Seeing the looks that his uncle was shooting him, Taeron grinned and surreptitiously cast a silencing charm centered on him and his horse that would cover only the area where Daeron, Jeremy, Kevan, and the Kingsguard would hear it.

“What’s with the looks, uncle?” Taeron asked.

“You know perfectly well what they’re about, nephew,” Daeron said.

“I put up a silencing charm, so feel free to speak your mind.”

Taking one hand off the reigns of his horse, Daeron held up his hand, two of his fingers only inches apart, as he said, “I was this close to killing you for your little prank. Jeremy, however, convinced me that would have been a bad idea.”

“Yes, I don’t imagine mother and grandmother would have been very happy with you,” Taeron said. “Of course, the Kingsguard would have been your more immediate concern.”

Shaking his head, Lewyn said, “Don’t go bringing Gerold and me into this, my prince. We protect the royal family from outside threats, not from each other.”

Nodding, Gerold said, “Yes, if you pranked your uncle and he retaliates that’s on you.”

“What kind of prank did you play, if I might ask?” Kevan asked.

Taeron grinned and then surprised the others by saying, “The Rainbow Arse Charm, in red, white, and blue.”

Kevan was riding right next to Taeron, so leaning over, Taeron whispered in his ear, “In the shape of the Union Jack.”

Kevan burst out laughing, even as Jeremy asked what the others were thinking. “Um, Taeron, I thought we agreed to keep your magic a secret?”

“It’s okay, I trust Kevan,” Taeron said. “Since he has the same secret.”

Daeron did a double-take at this, as he asked, “Wait, Kevan, you have magic too?”

Getting hold of his laughter, Kevan smiled and nodded. “Yes, Uncle Daeron, I do.”

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to do to Tae what he did to me?” Daeron asked. “There’s ten gold dragons in it for you and the eternal gratitude of your ever-loving uncle.”

“Oi! Riding right here,” Taeron said, before turning to Kevan and saying, “There are twenty gold dragons in it for you if you don’t do what our uncle asks.”

Leaning over and whispering in Kevan’s ear again, he added, “And a blowjob once we make camp tonight.”

“Yeah, sorry, uncle, but I’m gonna have to go with Taeron’s offer,” Kevan said.

“You’re not even going to let me counter?” Daeron asked.

“You couldn’t top it if you tried,” Kevan replied. “Sorry.”

“Fine,” Daeron said. “See if I get you a nice gift for your next nameday.”

Taeron and Kevan laughed.

Sure, Kevan would have preferred not to upset his favorite uncle and get a bad nameday gift in the process. But, he wasn’t too worried. He was confident that he could get back into Daeron’s good graces before his nameday, but even if he couldn’t, he wasn’t worried.

He was too happy to be worried. He had been reunited with Harry, even if he did have a new name and face. And he was getting a blowjob tonight. If Taeron’s tongue skills were even half as good as Harry’s had been, then Kevan was going to be a very happy man indeed.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have Ch4 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. So, it turns out that Kevan Baratheon is none other than Cedric Diggory. Did any of you see that coming?
> 
> Anyway, I’m sure many of you have been wondering about Harry’s pairing in this story. He’s going to have a harem consisting of eight people from his old life. One from each of the Seven Kingdoms, plus one from across the Narrow Sea is Lys.
> 
> And because the recent posting of this story on FFNet has revealed this much, I’ll say that other than Cedric, two of the others with Harry are Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. Although who they are in Westeros, and who the others are, you’ll just have to wait and see.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Je m'appelle Kevan Baratheon. – My name is Kevan Baratheon.
> 
> D'accord, d'accord, ne vous fâchez pas. Je m’appelle Cedric Diggory. – Okay, okay. Don’t get angry. My name is Cedric Diggory.
> 
> Qui êtes vous? Et vous pouvez parler en anglais. Je l'ai testé une fois avec mon frère Steffon. Il m'a dit d'arrêter de parler charabia. - Who are you? And you can speak in English. I tested it once with my brother Steffon. He told me to stop talking gibberish.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	5. Arrival at Storm's End

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Five:  
Arrival at Storm’s End

-o-0-o-

On the 12th Day of the Tenth Turn, 255 years since Aegon’s Conquering— the seventh day since leaving Bronzegate and the thirty-fifth day since leaving King’s Landing—the royal progress reached Storm’s End, the seat of the House Baratheon, Lords Paramount of the Stormlands.

As the Stormlands’ Great House, there was no need for anyone to set up camp this time, as Storm’s End was easily large enough to hold all of them. While it only had one colossal drum tower, there were other buildings within the castle complex, including inns, breweries, bakeries, blacksmiths, and other shops, plus plenty of guest rooms for both highborn and lowborn alike.

Many of the guest rooms were empty for a majority of the year, primarily only being used if House Baratheon was hosting a tournament at Storm’s End. Or, like now, if they were hosting a royal progress.

As the royal party rode into the courtyard, they could see the Baratheon family gathered to welcome them. Front and center were Kevan’s parents, Lord Ormund and Princess Rhaelle. To their left were their nineteen-year-old son and heir, Ser Steffon Baratheon and his wife Cassana, who was holding their one-year-old son Stannis in her arms.

To Ormund’s right was his widowed mother, Lady Dellara Baratheon, who had chosen not to remarry after the death of her husband, Lord Lyonel Baratheon. The fact that she was fifty years old and no longer capable of bearing children likely played a big role in her decision. Resting against her hip and held in her arms was Steffon and Cassana’s eldest, three-year-old Robert.

As Taeron dismounted from his horse, Ormund bowed his head and said, “Welcome to Storm’s End, my prince.”

Taeron smiled. “Thank you, uncle,” before he threw any semblance of royal protocol out the window and proceeded to hug his uncle, followed by his aunt.

It was as Taeron was shaking hands with Steffon and gently tapping the tip of his new cousin Stannis’s nose, that Rhaelle said, “Get over here, brother.”

Daeron smiled, as he came over and hugged his sister. “Hello, sister dear.”

“Don’t sister dear me Daeron,” Rhaelle said sternly. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for the raven to come telling me that you and Jeremy have made me an aunt again. Honestly, brother, your thirty, what are you waiting for? At the rate you’re going your nephews will be fostering before you give them cousins.”

“Seven help me,” Daeron muttered under his breath, before he said, “Rhaelle, you know that males with the secondary reproductive system have a fifty percent lower chance of conception, compared to women.”

“Oh please, Daeron, don’t take me for a fool,” Rhaelle said. “Fifty percent lower chance or not, you should have conceived by now. Unless you’re going to try and tell me that you and Jeremy are celibate, which I wouldn’t believe for all the gold in Westeros and the Iron Bank combined.”

“Mother, perhaps it would be best to move this conversation to a more private location,” Steffon suggested, as he noticed his uncles blushing and the rather uncomfortable looks on the faces of many of the other household staff that had gathered with the family to greet the royal party.

Rhaelle looked like she was going to say something, but then apparently thought better of it, as she nodded and not long afterward, everyone retreated inside.

-o-0-o-

Upon entering Storm’s End, Taeron leaned over to his aunt and whispered, only loud enough for her to hear, “Aunt Rhaelle, a word, please. Alone, it’s very important.”

Rhaelle nodded and as the rest of the party moved towards the Great Hall, Rhaelle led Taeron to a nearby staircase. Climbing up one level, Rhaelle showed Taeron into her private solar.

“What is it, Taeron?” she asked, as soon as the door was closed.

“First off, I know Kevan’s secret,” Taeron said. “About his magic.”

Due to it being winter for the last four years, Rhaelle hadn’t yet been told about Taeron’s magic, as they hadn’t seen each other in person and everyone agreed that even encrypted that was the kind of information they weren’t going to put in a letter. Ravens could be intercepted, after all, and encryption broken.

From talking with Kevan, however, he knew that just as his family had been keeping his own magic a secret since it bloomed when he was ten, that Kevan’s family had also been keeping his magic a secret. Comparing notes, Taeron and Kevan had realized that their magic had bloomed on the same day, leaving them both to wonder if maybe the Fates had planned it that way.

“He told you?” Rhaelle asked.

Taeron nodded. “Yes, but don’t worry. I have the same secret.”

There might have been a time when Rhaelle would have been surprised by the fireball in her nephew’s hand, but after years of seeing balls of lightning in her younger son’s hand, she’d gotten used to such sights.

As the pair sat down on a comfortable settee, Taeron said, “Grandfather, Grandmother, and all your siblings and their spouses, plus the Kingsguard know about my magic. We would have told you as well, but due to the winter…”

Lying a hand on Taeron’s shoulder, Rhaelle smiled and said, “I understand. Ormund, his mother, Steffon, Cassana, and I know about Kevan and we all agreed we’d trust the rest of my family, but only once we’d seen each other in person.”

After a second’s pause, she added, “It’s good to know that when the time came, they’d have no trouble believing us.”

Taeron grinned. “Well, even if I didn’t have magic, I’d say a small demonstration would have been all it would have taken to prove to them that Kevan had magic.”

“True. So what did you want to talk to me about? I have the feeling it was more than just letting me know that you knew about Kevan.”

Nodding, Taeron said, “Yes, it was. Before leaving King’s Landing, I had the chance to overhear a conversation that I probably wasn’t meant to overhear, but I’m very happy that I did.”

“What kind of conversation?” Rhaelle asked, knowing that her nephew wouldn’t be telling her this if he didn’t believe it was important for her to know.

“It was between Grand Maester Taranis and the new High Septon Saranis.”

Normally, the High Septon’s name wasn’t known, as they gave up both their given name and their house name upon becoming the High Septon and thus being known only as the High Septon. Taeron, however, as well as most people in King’s Landing, were aware of the fact that the current High Septon had been Septon Saranis, the twin brother of Grand Maester Taranis.

At Rhaelle’s nod, Taeron continued, “They were discussing Uncle Daeron and Jeremy. Saranis was asking Taranis if he had ever provided moon tea to Uncle Daeron.”

“I trust the answer was no?” Rhaelle asked, hoping that her brother hadn’t been drinking moon tea all these years to prevent himself from getting pregnant. Or more precisely, to put an end to any pregnancies.

Nodding, Taeron said, “Taranis confirmed he’s never provided Daeron with it. Which then led Saranis to confide in his brother his belief that his predecessor had been tricked and that Daeron actually doesn’t have a secondary reproductive system.”

Eyes widening, Rhaelle almost sputtered as she said, “What? That’s ridiculous. I was there when Daeron had his first blood at thirteen. So I know for a fact that he has it and it was confirmed by the Grand Maester.”

“Yes, it was, but if you’ll remember, that was Grand Maester Brent, who died the following year, and Taranis has only been in the position for the last seven years. During which Daeron has been in great health, save for the occasional minor injury, and since he’s never been pregnant, Taranis has never had any reason to examine him down there.”

Rhaelle sighed. “And due to the Citadel tending to name older men as the Grand Maester, there were two of them between Brent and Taranis.”

Nodding, Taeron said, “Saranis can’t believe that in the ten years that Daeron and Jeremy have been married, they haven’t had children yet, even with the lower fertility rate and limited window for conception in those with the secondary system. He told Taranis that he’s strongly considering invalidating Daeron and Jeremy’s marriage, as he thinks they lied about Daeron’s status and are thus were not legally able to wed under Faith doctrine.”

“Father would never allow that,” Rhaelle said.

“He’d fight it, yes, but the more devoutly religious are not likely to react well if the King gets into a public dispute with the High Septon.”

Rhaelle nodded, but remained quiet, as she considered the ramifications for the royal family and the country as a whole.

“I have an idea, however,” Taeron said. “But I’m going to need your help. And Kevan’s.”

“I’m all ears,” Rhaelle said.

-o-0-o-

An hour later, there was a good deal of shouting coming from the guest quarters inside of Storm’s End’s drum tower. It was mostly Daeron doing the shouting, as he found himself and Jeremy lying on the bed in their room. Their legs were magically locked together and their arms magically locked at their sides.

A silken sheet was positioned over their midsections so that their bits weren’t on full display… as beneath them, they were both as naked the days they were born.

“Taeron, Kevan, release us now!” Daeron shouted.

“I’m sorry, uncle, but no,” Kevan said. “This is for your own good.”

“You’ve said that but why?” Jeremy asked. “You haven’t explained what the hell is going on.”

From her place leaning against the door to the room, Rhaelle cleared her throat and said, “You’ve been procrastinating having children for far too long and now it’s got the new High Septon talking about ending your marriage because he thinks you lied to his predecessor about having the ability to carry children, Daeron.”

“I cast a spell on Jeremy,” Taeron admitted. “That would compel him to tell me the next time you started your period, Uncle Daeron. So I know you started it this morning.”

“I told you no such thing,” Jeremy said.

“I removed your memory of it after you told me,” Taeron admitted. “I’m sorry, uncles, but as I said, this is for your own good. You can’t convince me that you want your marriage to be invalidated. So, we,” motioning to himself, Rhaelle, and Kevan, “are going to make sure that it’s not.”

“How?” Daeron asked although he wasn’t shouting this time.

“By making sure that you get pregnant, uncle,” Kevan said, as he laid his hands on Daeron’s abdomen and closed his eyes as he thought about the strongest fertility charm he knew.

Of course, since Cedric had died towards the end of his sixth year and had not been studying to be a healer, Kevan’s knowledge of healing spells from his former life was somewhat limited. Due to the fifty-percent lower fertility rating for those with the secondary reproductive system, the strongest fertility spell he knew would only bring Daeron’s fertility up to near that of a person born primarily female.

“Get used to these walls, boys,” Rhaelle said. “You’ll be spending a lot of time here.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked.

Rhaelle smiled. “You’re not leaving this room for the next fortnight. In that time, Jeremy, I expect you to be a good little boy and fuck my brother as many times as it takes to get him pregnant. If that means ten times a day for the next two weeks then so be it.”

Daeron’s eyes widened. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Shaking his head, Taeron said, “Sorry, uncle, but no. I like you and Jeremy married and I don’t want the High Septon to invalidate your marriage. You’re also not getting any younger, so it’s time to have a child before you’re no longer able to do so safely.”

“The spells holding your arms and legs will wear off in ten minutes,” Kevan said. “When they do, Jeremy, you’ll find yourself hard and ready to go. We’ve put charms on both of you to increase your sex drives, by the way, so you can go at it, again and again, and again.”

“However many times it takes,” Taeron said. “Food and water will be delivered each day, but as Aunt Rhaelle said, for the next fortnight, you’ll be locked in this room, naked, and hornier than you’ve ever been in your lives.”

Rhaelle, Kevan, and Taeron turned to leave at this. As he crossed the threshold, Taeron turned his head and said, “Have fun.”

If Daeron and Jeremy had anything to say, Rhaelle, Kevan, and Taeron didn’t hear it, as Taeron pulled the door closed and Rhaelle locked it with her key before Kevan additionally cast a locking charm on it. The whole room had already been blanketed in silencing charms so that Daeron and Jeremy’s activities wouldn’t be overheard.

Turning to the others, Kevan asked, “Are we doing the right thing?”

Rhaelle said, “I believe so, yes. I know some might disagree, but they've been dragging their feet for years. They both want children, I know they do because they’ve both told me that. Yet inexplicably they keep putting it off. I honestly don’t understand why.”

“Having shared a tent with them since leaving King’s Landing,” Taeron said, “I can definitely say that unless they just stop having sex when Daeron is on his period, it’s certainly not due to lack of trying.”

“Well, hopefully, the fertility spell and the spell to increase their libido will help,” Kevan said.

-o-0-o-

Turning his head to look at Jeremy, their arms and legs still locked, for the time being, Daeron said, “I cannot believe they did this.”

“Neither can I.” After a moment he added, “Although, maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Daeron grinned. “I don’t know. It’s going to be quite the hardship to have to spend the next fortnight having sex with one of the sexiest men I’ve ever known.”

“Hardship, huh? You just wait until my arms and legs unlock. I’ll show you hard, Daeron.”

“You promise?”

“Oh, I promise,” Jeremy said as he lowered his voice and said, “I’ll show you again and again and again. You’ll be sick of me by the end of it.”

“Impossible. If I haven’t gotten sick of you after ten years of marriage, there’s no way that an extra fortnight is going to change anything.”

“I can’t believe that the High Septon is talking about ending our marriage.”

“Neither can I,” Daeron said. “I’m insulted that he thinks I’m lying, but then it’s not like I plan on showing him my private parts.” Daeron sighed and then grinned, “I guess you’re just going to have to do what my sister and our nephews suggest and spend the next two weeks fucking me into this mattress. Let’s see the High Septon say that I’m lying once I’m visibly pregnant.”

-o-0-o-

_Dear Family,_

_As I write this, I’m sitting in the guest room provided to me at Storm’s End. We all got here safely and were warmly welcomed by Aunt Rhaelle and her family. Aunt Rhaelle sends her warmest greetings and asked that I place the included sketch in my letter, depicting her with her two new grandchildren, Robert and Stannis._

_I’ve shared my knowledge of gardening with Uncle Ormund, Aunt Rhaelle, and Cousins Steffon and Kevan… turns out that Kevan is just as knowledgeable as I am._

_Anyway, as we just got here and the trip from Bronzegate was rather boring and uneventful, there’s not much for me to share with you. Other than the fact that we will be extending our stay at Storm’s End by a sennight. Nothing is wrong, we’ve just decided that after not seeing Aunt Rhaelle and her family since last autumn, we’d like to stay a bit longer._

_Anyway, I should be going. There’s a feast tonight to welcome us to the castle, and I really should get ready for it, seeing as how I’m one of the guests of honor._

_Love,_

_Taeron_

_P.S. Feeling a little under the weather, it’s my time of the year. Sorry, I’m just doing this postscript rather than a full letter. Jeremy and I are fine. Love you, Daeron._

-o-0-o-

Taeron smiled as he looked down at his letter home. Gardening was code for his magic that he’d worked out with his family before leaving King’s Landing. Ravens could be intercepted, so, it was agreed that if Taeron had to include anything about his magic in his letters that he’d refer to it as gardening.

Taeron didn’t partake in the actual act of gardening much in his new life, but he had enough knowledge of it from his Herbology classes at Hogwarts and years of tending to Aunt Petunia’s garden that he was confident he had if anyone did intercept this letter, they wouldn’t find out his secret. He also wouldn’t be left looking like a complete fool for talking about sharing his knowledge on a subject he knew nothing about.

As for the postscript, Daeron didn’t write it, as he was currently otherwise occupied with Jeremy. But Taeron decided not to tell his parents and grandparents that he, Kevan, and Aunt Rhaelle had decided to lock Daeron and Jeremy in their bedroom and make them go at it like rabbits for the next two weeks.

Taeron liked his bits right where they were, thank you. And he was pretty sure that Daeron and Jeremy would both want to turn him into a eunuch if he told anyone about what they’d done in something as insecure as a letter.

If anyone back home had magic, Taeron could have charmed the letter with magical security spells… the problem was though that all the spells he knew required the recipient of the letter to have magic to open it.

Since he didn’t want Daeron to get in trouble for not writing, however, Taeron used a spell to mimic his uncle’s handwriting and signature.

‘That’ll keep us both out of hot water,’ Taeron thought, as he sealed the letter and got up to start getting ready for the feast. He’d drop the letter off at the rookery on his way down to the feast hall.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s Ch5 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. I think I’ll do one more chapter covering events over the next two weeks at Storm’s End before the royal progress moves on to Summerhall and beyond that to Dorne.
> 
> If there’s anything that you’d like to see covered in the upcoming chapters, please let me know in a review and I’ll see about maybe incorporating it.
> 
> I did play around with the ages of some of the characters in this chapter. In canon, Steffon Baratheon would have only been nine years old in 255 AC. And Robert and Stannis wouldn’t have even been born yet, as they were born in 262 and 264 respectively (with Renly not being born until 277).
> 
> I wanted Kevan to be the younger son of Ormund and Rhaelle, however, so I moved Steffon’s, Robert’s, and Stannis’s birth years back in time by ten years. So, while they’re very young here, some of the more well-known characters like Robert and Stannis are present in the story. Other characters who are comparable to them in age in canon will likely get their ages adjusted as well.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	6. A Fortnight in the Stormlands

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Six:  
A Fortnight in the Stormlands

-o-0-o-

The next morning found Taeron and Kevan in the training yard of Storm’s End as they sparred. They were both shirtless, a light sheen of sweat glistening on their skin in the early morning sunlight as they moved around the field, parrying blows or blocking them with a shield.

They were using dulled practice swords, as Gerold and Lewyn had refused to let them use the real things, even though they both knew about Taeron’s and Kevan’s magic and they assured them that they could heal any cuts or scrapes they might get. Still, Taeron supposed they were doing their jobs, as his safety was their first priority.

Taeron could also see their point of view. They’d argued that he was only fourteen, while Kevan was seventeen, five inches taller than him, and knighted. It wasn’t exactly the most even of matchups, at least in terms of age and height.

“You have to admit, he’s definitely holding his own,” Lewyn said, as he watched Taeron dodge a strike from Kevan’s sword.

A moment later, there was a loud thud as Taeron’s sword made contact with Kevan’s shield. The older teen had only just barely managed to raise it in time to block the younger man’s attack.

“Aye, that he is,” Gerold agreed. “They’re both good fighters. I doubt either of them is quite at the level where they could beat one of us, but they’re learning.”

Lewyn laughed. “It’s only a matter of time, you know before Taeron hands us our own arses. He’s been improving by leaps and bounds these last few years and has always been good at dodging attacks.”

“True,” Gerold conceded. “And I suppose we’re not getting any younger.”

Lewyn gave his fellow sworn brother a look of mock outrage. “Speak for yourself, old man. You’re old enough to be my father.”

Gerold couldn’t exactly argue against that point, considering that he was forty-one and Lewyn was currently the youngest member of the Kingsguard, at only twenty-four. Still, he wasn’t about to let that kind of remark pass, even if he knew it was in jest, so he playfully cuffed Lewyn upside the head. They both laughed, before returning their attention to the sparring ring.

Circling Kevan, keeping a close eye on his movements to look for any possible openings in his defenses, Taeron was entirely in the zone. So much so that he didn’t even notice how drop-dead gorgeous Kevan was looking right now.

It had been hard, but Taeron had trained himself not to pay attention to such things when he was in battle. Not that he’d ever seen a true battle at only fourteen. Closest he’d come was watching various tournaments, such as the Winter Tourney of King’s Landing in 252 or practicing in the sparring ring.

Dulled sword or not, it would still have hurt if he got hit because he’d allowed himself to be undisciplined enough to be distracted by his opponent’s sex appeal. Besides, there was plenty of time to think about such things later. Right now, the only thing on his mind was beating Kevan’s arse and winning their sparring match.

As a matter of personal honor, Taeron had never been in the habit of using his magic when he sparred. Since it would give him an unfair advantage since none of his opponents thus far had magic. Kevan did have magic, but they had mutually decided not to use it during their match simply because they wanted to test each other’s martial abilities without magical aid.

Well, that and the training yard at Storm’s End carried a fairly significant risk of someone seeing them use magic and blowing the lid off their collective secrets. They both agreed that they’d have to reveal it beyond their immediate families eventually, but figured it was best to wait until the most opportune time, which they agreed wasn’t yet.

Seeing an opening, Taeron thrust his sword into it and knocked the shield out of Kevan’s hand. A second later, he blocked Kevan’s sword with his own shield, before deciding to abandon it to make things a bit fairer.

The prince and the knight were soon circling each other, as they parried strikes with their dulled bastard swords, which they were now wielding with two hands.

“How long have they been at it?” Steffon asked as he walked up to the two Kingsguard knights, alongside his father.

“About an hour, give or take ten minutes,” Gerold answered.

“Impressive,” Ormund said. “Most of Kevan’s opponents don’t last more than half that time.”

Steffon nodded. “It’s true. My little brother has always been a natural with a sword. I’ve managed to beat him before, but it’s been getting harder as he got older and more skilled. And the last time I beat him was on my nameday, so I can’t be certain that wasn’t just him letting me win.”

Steffon was by no means a slouch when it came to swordplay. He usually pretty easily beat most of his opponents, although his father and brother gave him the most trouble.

Shaking his head, Steffon added, “Of course, Kevan hasn’t faced off against many opponents that have received training from the Kingsguard.”

“We initially weren’t involved in his training at all,” Lewyn said. “He was trained only by the Red Keep’s master-at-arms until the age of twelve. It’s only been in the last two years that we’ve gotten involved.”

“His parents wanted him to have a firm grasp on the basics first,” Gerold added. “And the master-at-arms is more than capable of providing that without any assistance from us.”

Ormund and Steffon nodded, as they both fell silent and continued to watch the two young men in the ring.

Taeron and Kevan continued moving around, parrying and dodging blows as necessary. It was about fifteen minutes after Ormund and Steffon began watching, that Kevan found himself on the ground after being tripped by Taeron.

As Kevan rolled over, his hand less than a foot from the hilt of his sword, he found Taeron standing over him with the tip of his dulled sword pointing at his throat, as he kicked Kevan’s sword out of his reach with one foot.

“Do you yield?”

“Yes, I yield,” Kevan said without hesitation.

Taeron smiled before sheathing his sword and holding out one hand to help Kevan up. Kevan gladly took it, as a memory from his old life came to the fore that had him smiling. It was right after they’d all taken the portkey to the World Cup and Cedric had offered Harry his hand to help him up from the ground.

Wrapping an arm around Taeron, Kevan said, “Good spar, cousin. Especially that move towards the end. You’re so going to have to teach me that.”

Taeron grinned. “I’ll consider it, although I’m not sure I want to give up my only advantage against you.”

Kevan laughed. “Oh you have others, but I’m not about to tell you.”

“I imagine that I can probably guess a few of them.”

“Yeah, you probably can,” Kevan confirmed.

-o-0-o-

Over the next few days, Taeron and Kevan fell into a routine. They woke up early and went down to the training yard. They alternated what they worked on each day, some days choosing to spar with swords, others choosing to spar with daggers or war axes. They were also practicing their archery.

Whatever it was they were practicing, however, the terms were rather simple. The loser gave the other a blowjob. The boys were fairly even thus far in terms of giving and receiving.

After their morning training and sexual pleasure, while freshening up from training was handled, they’d eat breakfast with the family, before heading into the library at Storm’s End to read for a couple hours. They both found Westerosi and Essosi history to be a fascinating subject and wanted to learn as much about it as they possibly could.

“It’s really too bad that more didn’t survive the Doom,” Taeron said as he closed a leather-bound volume he’d been reading about Valyria. “There are far too many unanswered questions in most of what I’ve read.”

Kevan nodded. “True. Of course, we don’t really know what might have survived the Doom, to be honest. At least outside of Valyria. For all we know, there could be a treasure trove of information locked away in vaults in the city that are just waiting to be found.”

“Yes, the only problem is that it seems that nobody has ever gone to Valyria and lived to tell the tale. History seems to be full of people venturing off towards Valyria to claim its secrets. They just don’t ever seem to come back.”

“True,” Kevan said before he grinned and because they had a silencing charm erected around them, said, “though we do have an advantage that they presumably did not.”

“Yes, which is why at some point, I’d really like to go to Valyria,” Taeron said. “It’ll have to wait until after the royal progress of course, which is fine as we’ll have more help that way since we’ll then have the help of the other seven people other than us that the Fates sent here.”

“Maybe more than that. I can’t be sure, but my read on the Fates was that they enjoy being vague and not sharing everything they know.”

Taeron laughed. “You got that impression to did you? Yeah, I’ve long suspected that just because they told me that they’d sent eight others from my old life here, that doesn’t mean that they sent only eight others.”

“Have you given any thought on who else they may have sent?”

“Some,” Taeron answered, as he blushed slightly and added, “Of course, what with me being Fate’s Bitch and all,” Kevan laughed as he remembered Harry calling himself that in their old life, “I have found myself worried about who they sent.”

“Worried how?”

“That they’d choose to send the others like you. As in the ones that I know intimately.”

“You mentioned that you’d been with others after Cedric died,” Kevan said, mainly because even though he knew he was Cedric, he felt very odd about saying ‘after I died’ when he was very much not dead. “Which as I said, I’m totally fine with because I wanted you to be happy.”

“I suspect there’s a but in there.”

“Not really, although I admit I have wondered how many people you were with after me.” Blushing slightly, he then added, “And if I’d been with any of those people before we got together.”

“Would you think less of me if I said I don’t remember?”

“No, but really?”

Taeron sighed. “Well, in the years between Ginny’s death and Harry’s arrest, let’s just say that he got around and had several one-night stands with people whose names he didn’t even know. They were all blokes, of course, but it was basically wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. I never saw most of them again.”

“Wow. Of course, after what that bitch did to you, I suppose I can’t blame you for wanting to sow your wild oats with your preferred gender.”

Taeron nodded. “Harry was faithful to her for nearly two years, which was two years that he could have been having sex with people he would actually find attractive without the influence of Amortentia and compulsion charms.”

Shaking his head, Taeron then said, “Any of my hookups that stood a chance of you also hooking up with them were from before Ginny. The ones after were all with muggle men, since I lived in the muggle world after she died and avoided the wizarding world as much as possible.”

“Makes sense. You’d just spent the last two years roughly under magical compulsion, so I can definitely see the appeal of avoiding contact with those capable of doing magic for a while. Or at least as much as your lordships allowed.”

Taeron nodded. “Of course, for the most part, the majority of my lovers were either in my year or in the year below me. So, odds are there wasn’t too much overlap, although I won’t say there was none.”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever slept with that was more than a year younger than me, so yeah that’s a fair bet.” With a grin, Kevan asked, “So anybody that really shock me?”

“Well, I did hook up with more than one person from every house at Hogwarts,” Taeron said. “So, obviously that includes Slytherins.”

“As long as you don’t tell me that you hooked up with Draco Malfoy.”

At the look on Taeron’s face at this, Kevan’s eyes widened as he said, “Oh come on, you didn’t.”

“It was one time, in sixth-year,” Taeron said. “In Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, of all places. I would point out, however, that it was probably the roughest sex I’ve ever had in my life. Very much the definition of hate sex as afterward we got dressed, went our separate ways, and never discussed it again.”

Kevan was silent for a moment before he shrugged. “Wow. Well, he was kind of cute, I suppose. If only his personality wasn’t so loathsome.”

“I’ll admit that I never had much use for him. Although, he did do me a solid over the summer before seventh-year when I was captured by Death Eaters during the Horcrux hunt and briefly taken to Malfoy Manor. Hermione hit me with an overpowered stinging hex before they set upon us to hide my identity, so my face was swollen beyond recognition, but I could see it in Draco’s eyes that he did recognize me, even though he claimed to the Death Eaters, including his Aunt Bellatrix, that he didn’t.”

“So how’d you escape?”

“Dobby got us all out,” Taeron answered before he sighed heavily and added, “And paid the ultimate price for it, as on the last group, Bellatrix managed to stab him.”

“That’s sad,” Kevan said before he shook his head and asked, “So, who else were you with?”

“You want a complete list?”

“However many you’re willing to share.”

Taeron was quiet for a moment, as he considered that. Finally, he said, “I had a one-night stand with Cormac McLaggen following a Slug Club party.”

“Slug Club?” Kevan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, um in sixth year Snape finally got his wish and became the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Taeron revealed. “So Dumbledore convinced the former Potions professor, Horace Slughorn, to come out of retirement. It was a social club led by him, made up of students who were either well-connected, famous or excelled in various areas of magic.”

“Ah,” Kevan said. “Okay, well, I can say that I was never with Cormac. I always found him to be too arrogant.”

“Trust me the feeling is mutual. As I said, it was a one-time thing. I think he would have been willing to make it a recurring fling but no matter how much I may have enjoyed it, I couldn’t deal with his massive ego.”

Kevan laughed, before silently motioning for Taeron to continue.

“Also had a few threesome one-night stands. One was with Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood, another was with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, and before you think all my lovers were in Gryffindor, I also had one-night stand threesomes with Nathaniel Douglas and Kevin Sterndale from Ravenclaw, Chance and Chase Higgs from Slytherin, and Karl Stebbins and Nicolas Grimmett from Hufflepuff.”

“I said it earlier, but I’ll say it again, wow.”

Taeron grinned at the surprised look on Kevan’s face and decided to shock him more. “Also had a few foursomes and even a couple of fivesomes. And that’s just the one-night stands, so that doesn’t include single lovers or groups that became recurring flings. Foursomes include Cassius Warrington, Adrian Pucey, and Terence Higgs from Slytherin, Hufflepuff’s Wyatt Bolton-Zabini and his elder half-brothers, Thad and Max, and the Thomas triplets: Grantley, Grantham, and Graham.”

When Kevan didn’t say anything, Taeron added, “The one-night stand fivesomes were with Ravenclaw’s Micheil and Finlay MacDougal and their Gryffindor boyfriends Kaidan and Karter Shacklebolt, and the McKinnon quadruplets: Blaise, Brett, Blaine, and Blake.”

Shaking his head, Kevan held up his hands and said, “Stop. Please, just stop. You seriously know how to make a guy both jealous and envious at the same time.”

“Well, you did ask.”

“Yes, and I’m beginning to regret that,” Kevan answered. “And those were all just one-night stands? Others were recurring?”

“Yup,” Taeron said, popping the p.

“Oh sweet Circe’s sagging tits, you really got around.”

“My fame or infamy depending on the time frame, pretty much ensured that I could have anyone I wanted. For most of my fifth-year, I was just trying to make connections. Anything that could fill the gaping void that your… well, Cedric’s, death left in my heart. Had some great sex, but I was never really able to find anything deeper.”

With a sigh, Taeron continued, “Of course, I suppose the fact that all of my lovers during fifth-year were one-night stands didn’t help. Started having more recurring flings in sixth-year which could maybe have developed into something more, but then Ginny slipped me the Amortentia over the summer before my seventh year and I cut off contact with all of them, as I wanted to stay loyal to my girlfriend and later wife. I couldn’t bring myself to face any of them following Ginny’s death, so I don’t know what could have happened.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Taeron said. “What Ginny did was on her.”

Kevan nodded, but before he could say anything, his stomach growled, making both of them laugh.

“And I think that’s the sign that we should halt this conversation,” Taeron said. “And go find something to eat.”

-o-0-o-

After a fortnight at Storm’s End, it was finally time to leave. A lot had happened over the course of that time.

Taeron and Kevan spent nearly every waking and non-waking moment together. This involved all of their non-waking time and at least two hours of their waking time each day spent in bed together.

Taeron spent some quality time with his aunt, uncle, and cousins… which included changing a pair of one-year-old Stannis’s soiled smallclothes. He hadn’t really wanted to do that last one, but his aunt insisted that it would be good practice when he had children one day.

Never mind the fact that as royalty, there were literally castle servants whose job it was to do such things. Or the fact that with a thought, the excrement could be magically vanished and both the smallclothes and their wearer cleaned without even taking them off.

Kevan explained that his aunt was still not used to the whole magic thing, even after having a magical son for the last four years. She wasn’t against it or anything, and she fully supported both her son and now her nephew, but she believed that relying on magic to do everything was a sign of laziness.

Meanwhile, with their fortnight at Storm’s End coming to a close, Daeron and Jeremy had finally been let out of their bedroom. It was clear that they had done as they were told, however, since Kevan had charmed a platter and a pitcher in their room to act the same way as the platters and pitchers used at Hogwarts, which would magically transport food and drink up to the Great Hall from the kitchens.

Thus nobody had had to actually unlock the bedroom and risk them escaping to deliver their food and drink to them each day. Thus, when the door was opened for the first time in two weeks, the smell of sex was so overpowering that not long after letting them out, Taeron and Kevan had to beat a hasty retreat to their bedroom to relieve some pressing issues.

Nobody at Storm’s End questioned the fact that Daeron and Jeremy hadn’t been seen for two weeks, as both Taeron and Kevan had temporarily altered the memories of everyone but their Aunt Rhaelle to make them forget that Daeron and Jeremy had even come to Storm’s End.

Upon being released from their imposed exile—and after Taeron and Kevan had taken care of those pressing issues of their own—they altered everyone’s memories again to implant false memories in their minds. Thus even though they weren’t actually present for any of it, everyone remembered seeing Daeron and Jeremy around the castle for the last two weeks, taking part in all the family time, the feast on the day of their arrival, other meals, and sparring in the training yard.

Taeron and Kevan neglected to mention to Daeron and Jeremy that there was a spell that would allow them to know if Daeron was pregnant, even though it hadn’t even been a month yet. They did cast it, but they kept the results to themselves, deciding it would be more fun to let them wait and find out on their own. Especially since any pregnancy would need to be confirmed by the maesters traveling with the royal progress anyway.

As Taeron mounted his horse, he smiled at Kevan who was very happy he had been allowed to accompany him for the rest of the progress. Of course, when asked, Ormund and Rhaelle had just laughed and told their son that he was seventeen and knighted, so he didn’t need their permission.

Rhaelle had also noticed how close Taeron and Kevan had been over the last two weeks and told them point-blank that she was happy for them and wouldn’t dream of standing in their way. Thankfully, for both boys, she refrained from saying anything about expecting a wedding invitation anytime soon, knowing that it would very likely be well over a year before such an event could occur.

They had to finish the progress first, after all, and get back to King’s Landing. And even then, a royal wedding for the second-in-line to the throne wasn’t something that could be done on short notice, especially when one considered that you had to allow for at least a sennight or more for the news to be disseminated throughout the kingdom and then depending on the distance from King’s Landing potentially several moons just for the guests to arrive.

It had taken over a month for the royal progress to reach Storm’s End, after all, and that was the closest of the regional capitals to King’s Landing. Traveling by ship could speed things up of course, but nobody in their right mind tried to reach Storm’s End by ship.

The bay it overlooked wasn’t called Shipbreaker Bay simply because the cartographers couldn’t think of anything else to call it.

“So, it’s on to Summerhall now, correct?” Ormund asked.

“Yes,” Taeron confirmed. “We’ll be spending at least a fortnight there to take in enough food and water for both the party and the horses since we’ll be heading for Sunspear after that.”

“Crossing the deserts of Dorne,” Steffon said with a shake of his head, before grinning at Kevan and saying, “Better you than me kid.”

Kevan rolled his eyes before he reached down and messed up his elder brother’s hair for calling him a kid.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too bad,” Taeron said. “The Red Mountains will provide some cover as we travel down the Boneway from Summerhall. And once we leave the cover of the mountains, we’ll be traveling along the northern coast of Dorne until we reach the Tor, before turning south to Godsgrace and traveling along the Greenblood to Sunspear.”

Ormund nodded. “Yes, the coastal and river path is likely the best one to take.”

“We’ll be taking a ship to Oldtown after that right?” Kevan asked.

Daeron nodded. “Correct. Not even Tae is crazy enough to try and travel the entire length of the Southern Dornish coast by land.”

“Very funny,” Taeron drawled, as his uncles grinned. Smiling at his family that was staying behind at Storm’s End, Taeron said, “I greatly enjoyed my visit and now that winter is over, don’t be strangers up at King’s Landing. Although keep in mind that I won’t be there until sometime next year.”

“Noted,” Rhaelle said with a smile. “Now off with you all. I detest long goodbyes.”

“Well then we won’t say goodbye,” Kevan said with a smile. “Just until we meet again then.”

“Better, young man,” Daella Baratheon said with a smile to her youngest grandson, as he leaned down and kissed her hand.

As Kevan righted himself on his horse he nodded to Taeron who gave the signal to move out, before he shook the reins on his horse to get it moving.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have Ch6 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. Next up will be the trip from Storm’s End to Summerhall and Dorne after that.
> 
> If you’re wondering about the title of this story, I imagine some information will be forthcoming once the progress reaches Oldtown.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	7. Summerhall

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Seven:  
Summerhall

-o-0-o-

Upon leaving Storm’s End on the 27th Day of the Tenth Turn 255 AC, the royal progress turned back towards Bronzegate. They had to make the slight detour back the way they came because they couldn’t move in a straight line west to Summerhall since the Stormlands’ section of the Red Mountains were in the way.

The party intentionally waited until much later than normal to break camp on the morning of the 3rd Day of the Eleventh Turn. Traveling the last distance to Bronzegate, approximately five miles, the royal party stopped for lunch.

Of course, only Taeron, Kevan, Daeron, Jeremy, and the Kingsguard actually ate lunch inside the castle with Lord Buckler and his family. The rest of the royal host took their midday meal in their normal midday camp, which meant setting up the cooking fires, but not setting up the tents, as it wouldn’t make any sense to set them up only to tear them down an hour or so later.

After lunch, the progress traveled roughly another ten miles before setting up camp for the evening. Over the next four days, they traveled approximately seventy-five miles along the edge of the southern Kingswood until they reached the castle of Felwood, the seat of the Stormlander House Fell, where Kevan had relatives since his grandmother Dellara was a Fell by birth.

Spending two days with the Fells, the royal progress set off once again on the morning of the 10th Day of the Eleventh Turn for the last leg of their journey to Summerhall. They were approximately ninety miles away on the morning of the 10th and expected to reach the Targaryen summer palace in a sennight.

-o-0-o-

Riding into the courtyard of the lightly fortified summer palace, they found Ser Aenar Velaryon, his wife, and their three young children, two daughters and a son. Aenar was the youngest son of the current Lord of Driftmark, by his third wife.

A childhood friend of Daeron and Jeremy’s, when Daeron was named the Prince of Summerhall by his father, Daeron requested Aenar move his family from Driftmark to serve as Castellan of Summerhall. Aenar happily accepted the honor, as it was rather crowded back home, seeing as how he was the eighth son and twelfth of his father’s fifteen total children.

One other notable person that had gathered to greet the arriving royal party was Archmaester Gyldayn, the maester assigned by the Citadel to serve at Summerhall, after the death of the previous maester in the last few weeks of autumn in 251 AC. He was a noted scholar who was known to specialize in the history of the Targaryen family.

Since his uncle was the Prince of Summerhall, Taeron who up until now had been leading the royal progress, allowed Daeron and Jeremy to ride into the courtyard at Summerhall ahead of him. It only seemed right since even though they lived primarily at King’s Landing, Summerhall was Daeron’s holding.

“My prince,” Ser Aenar said, as Daeron dismounted from his house. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Aenar,” Daeron said, as he gave his old friend a friendly half-hug, before kissing Raenesa, Ser Aenar’s wife, on the cheek.

“Well, Aenar, your children have certainly grown since I saw them last,” Daeron said as he looked at the three of them, who were standing next to their parents from eldest to youngest: ten-year-old Naelyra, eight-year-old Vaena, and six-year-old Daenarr.

“Children do tend to that, my prince,” Raenesa said with a smile. “And it has been nearly four years now since your last visit.”

“True,” Daeron said, before motioning Taeron and Kevan over and saying, “Allow me to introduce my nephews. Jaeherys and Shaera’s son Prince Taeron, and Rhaelle’s son with Lord Ormund, Ser Kevan Baratheon.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Aenar said, as he bowed and his wife curtsied.

“And you remember Jeremy, I’m sure,” Daeron said with a smile.

Aenar laughed. “Yes, I do. It’s rather hard to forget the boy who thought a mud ball down the back of my trousers was a good gift for my fifth nameday.”

Several people burst out laughing at that, as Jeremy laughed and said, “And I still haven’t forgotten the look of total shock on your face, even after twenty-five years.”

Wiping away a tear of laughter from his eye, Aenar said, “You’re just lucky that you managed to grab ahold of the back of my smallclothes when you put it in. My mother would have been quite upset if you’d ruined my new trousers that she had made for the occasion.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that, Jeremy,” Taeron said.

“In my defense, I was five and stupid,” Jeremy said. “Which looking back on it, I understand would not have saved me from the wrath of the late Lady Velaryon.”

“My condolences on your loss, Aenar,” Daeron said, sobering as he remembered that Aenar’s mother had died from a winter chill in 252 on her way back to Driftmark from King’s Landing, when she, her husband, children, and stepchildren had visited the capital for the Winter Tourney.

“Thank you,” Aenar said, as he glanced up at the sky and said, “It looks like it may start raining, so perhaps we should head inside.”

-o-0-o-

Half-an-hour later, Kevan moaned, “Oh, Taeron, yes! I’m gonna…”

A second later, he was shooting his load into Taeron’s mouth, the prince greedily drinking every last drop, as he used his hands to massage Kevan’s bare arse. Kevan, meanwhile, had one hand on the back of Taeron’s neck and the other entwined in his white-blond locks.

When Kevan finally stopped shooting, Taeron removed his mouth from his cousin’s cock and stood up, pulling him into a kiss, which Kevan happily returned.

When they broke apart, Kevan smiled and said, “You know, I’ve never much cared for the taste of my own cum, but somehow it’s different when I can taste it in your mouth while kissing you.”

“I know what you mean,” Taeron said, as the two of them moved onto the bed.

Once they were under the covers of the bed, which were made from the very finest Naathi silk, Kevan rolled onto his side and just looked at Taeron’s profile.

Taeron smiled, as he remained laying on his back, but turned his head upon his pillow to look at Kevan. “I can hear your mind working. What’s up?”

“Ever since you told me you had a fivesome with the McKinnon quadruplets, I’ve been trying to picture it in my mind,” Kevan admitted. “They were a year below me, but I did know Blaine and Blake pretty well since they were both Hufflepuffs.”

“Well, then, let’s see here,” Taeron said as he cast his mind back to his fifth year when his one-night stand with the quads happened. “Blaine and Blaise laid down on the bed in opposite directions with Blaine’s legs over his brothers so that their cocks were touching. I sat on them so that they were double penetrating me. Blake straddled my hips and rode my cock, while Brett stood on the bed behind Blake while I gave him a blowjob.”

Closing his eyes and picturing it, after a minute, Kevan said, “Wow. It sounds hot.”

“It was pretty hot, yeah. That was probably the only one of the one-night stands I had during fifth-year that I would have been willing to repeat, honestly. The others were all good and I enjoyed them, but when they were finished, I just never felt any desire for a repeat performance.”

Shaking his head, Taeron added, “Of course, it never did happen again because I can tell you that there was a fair amount of alcohol involved, so we were all rather tipsy. And of the four of them, only Blake is actually gay. Brett is straight, and Blaine and Blaise, while bi, both lean more towards women. Last I heard, they were all happily married and had a dozen children between them.”

Kevan nodded before he thought back on the names that Taeron had shared with him and asked, “Wait, you said you had a threesome with Chase and Chance Higgs, and later a foursome that included Terence Higgs, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did,” Taeron confirmed. “So, yes, I had sex with three of the five Higgs brothers. And no, before you ask, I never told Terence before we hooked up that I’d slept with his older brothers, as I thought that might be kind of a mood-killer. I have no clue if they ever put it together afterward.”

“Wow, three members of the same family.”

Taeron laughed. “That wasn’t the last time I slept with brothers.”

“It wasn’t?”

Shaking his head, Taeron said. “Nope. There was a one-night stand I didn’t mention earlier because I was naming off the ones that happened during the school year and this one happened over the summer before my sixth year.”

“Who was it with?”

“Ron’s eldest brother, Bill,” Taeron answered. “Firewhisky was involved and about a month later he started dating Fleur Delacour.”

Noting the look on Kevan’s face, Taeron nodded. “Yes, the Beauxbatons champion. Obviously, it never happened again because there was no way in hell that I was going to even try for a repeat performance if it meant having an angry veela, even if she is only a quarter-veela, coming after me. They were married with two kids and a third on the way when I was arrested.”

“Wow, so three brothers in one family and two in another.”

“Well,” Taeron said, dragging out the word as he said it. “Actually, it was more like three brothers in one family and five in another.”

Kevan’s eyes widened. “Five?!”

“Yeah, I mentioned Bill and Percy,” Taeron said. “Well, the only Weasley brother that I never slept with was Ron.”

“You mean you also slept with Fred, George, and Charlie?” Kevan asked, prompting Taeron to nod. Kevan sighed. “Well, there’s an overlap, cause I also slept with Charlie.”

“Really? When?”

“Over the winter break in my fourth year,” Kevan answered. “So you would have been a second-year then. Charlie came home for the holiday. I’d gone ice-skating with some of my friends, even though I wasn’t very good yet. One of them pushed me out on the ice and I would have face-planted but Charlie happened to be skating nearby and caught me.”

Smiling at the memory, Kevan added, “He taught me how to skate and we talked about Quidditch, since we both played seeker, and ended up hanging out for the rest of the night, even after my friends left. Anyway, one thing led to another, and well, he was sneaking out of my bedroom window the next morning before my parents woke up.”

“Was it just that once?”

Shaking his head, Kevan replied, “No, we ended up hooking up a few more times before break ended. We both knew it was just sex though, so there was never a question of trying to do a long-distance relationship with me at Hogwarts and him in Romania.”

“It was pretty much the same for me and him,” Taeron revealed. “He got transferred to the dragon reserve in the Hebrides to stay and help defend his family from Voldemort. We hooked up several times, and while I think there were feelings on both sides, the future at that point was far too uncertain. Our only agreement was that we weren’t exclusive and could date or have sex with whomever we wanted.”

“Which included his twin brothers.”

“Yeah, Fred, George, and I hooked up,” Taeron confirmed. “Though from the get-go, I knew it was just sex. There were never any feelings. While we did hook up on more than one occasion, I always felt like a third wheel honestly, as it was clear that they had eyes more for each other than for me.”

Kevan was quiet for a moment before he laughed and said, “You know, I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I’m almost glad that Cedric died.”

“Why?”

“Because it saved me fifty galleons. I had a bet with my dorm mate, Cameron MacCallum. He was sure that Fred and George were more than brothers, but I didn’t think so. We never found out either way before Cedric died, but if we had,” Cedric groaned, “not only would I have been out fifty galleons, but Cam would have been insufferable.”

Knowing that Kevan was joking about being glad that Cedric had died, as he knew him far too well to think he was serious even in the face of an insufferable roommate, Taeron laughed.

“So any other threesomes or foursomes or fivesomes to share?”

“Nope, you know about all of my multi-person hookups now,” Taeron answered. “Other than Fred and George, all of my recurring hookups in sixth-year were all with only one other person.”

“So were those just sex? Or were there feelings?”

“A few were just friends hooking up, no strings, no feelings, just two guys having fun, relieving some stress, and helping each other get their rocks off. One example of that was with Colin Creevey.”

Kevan nodded, as both young men remained quiet for a moment since the boy in question hadn’t survived the Battle of Hogwarts.

“I don’t imagine Colin is one of the people sent here,” Taeron said. “I could be wrong, of course, but if I was going to pick people to send here, I think I’d pick the ones where there were mutual feelings. Not to say that Colin and I weren’t friends because we certainly were that, but there was never even a hint of a romantic spark there. Friendship and lust, sure, but nothing deeper than that.”

“I think there were probably about five people between my realizing I was gay and you and I getting together that I felt a romantic spark for. You were really the only one though where that spark developed into more than a spark, with the possible exception of Charlie.”

“I thought you said it was just sex?”

“Oh, it was back when it was happening,” Kevan clarified. “But we did keep in touch via letters after the physical aspect of our relationship had ended. That’s when I began to feel the beginnings of feelings, but I pushed them out of my mind because of the long-distance. I honestly didn’t think I could do that kind of relationship.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Honestly, I know they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that may well be true, but I couldn’t do long-distance for a prolonged period. Maybe a few weeks, but not much longer, I don’t think.”

“Same here,” Kevan agreed, before grinning and saying, “Well, since we’ve both admitted to having feelings for him, you think the Fates might have sent Charlie?”

“I wouldn’t be upset if they did. Although, he’d be devastated by the extinction of dragons in this world.”

“Alleged extinction,” Kevan said. “There are still eggs, remember.”

“True, but my family has been trying to hatch eggs since the death of the last dragon over a hundred years ago. None of the attempts have worked.”

“All the more reason to go to Valyria at some point. They were said to be practitioners of magic, so fourteen volcanos erupting or not, I refuse to believe that everything was lost.”

Taeron nodded in agreement, but nothing more was said as the younger man turned onto his side and silenced any further conversation with a kiss.

-o-0-o-

Two days later, Daeron smiled as he led his nephews down a winding staircase deep within the interior of Summerhall Palace.

“Where are we going?” Taeron asked.

“You’ll see,” Daeron answered, his tone cryptic.

“You’re not going to tell us?” Kevan asked.

Shaking his head, Daeron said, “Prince’s prerogative.”

Taeron rolled his eyes. “I’m a prince too you know.”

“True,” Daeron agreed. “But Prince of Summerhall you are not and since we’re in Summerhall...”

Taeron growled.

“Consider this a little payback for the stunt you pulled back at Storm’s End.”

“As if you didn’t enjoy every second of it,” Kevan said.

“Oh I certainly enjoyed it yes,” Daeron said. “You’ve seen Jeremy. How could I possibly not enjoy it? Still, you did lock me in a room for two weeks.”

“Are you going to try and do the same to us then?” Taeron asked.

“I considered it,” Daeron admitted. “But in the end, I decided against it.”

“Smart man,” Kevan said. “It’s not a good idea to piss off your nephews when they can summon fireballs and balls of lightning in their hands.”

“Or give you a multi-colored arse,” Taeron said with a grin.

“I’d still like to know where you got that pattern from.”

Shrugging, Taeron said, “That’s for me to know and you to keep guessing at,” and since Daeron’s back was to them as they headed down the stairs, Taeron and Kevan grinned at each other since obviously, they both knew where the pattern came from.

Daeron didn’t comment because at that moment, they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You brought us down all those stairs for this?” Kevan asked as he looked around dumbfounded since the hundred or so steep, twisting stairs they’d just climbed down didn’t seem to lead anywhere.

The only thing at the bottom was a small room, maybe four feet by four feet square, except for the alcove against one wall at a right angle from the bottom of the stairs.

In the said alcove was a black marble pedestal with a red marble statue resting atop it. The statue was a perfect copy of the three-headed dragon on the Targaryen family crest, only being three dimensional instead of flat.

“I know it may seem that way,” Daeron said, “but trust me, you will enjoy this. Now, grab one of the heads.”

As he said this, Daron reached out and placed one hand on top of the topmost head of the statue.

Taeron and Kevan shared a look before they shrugged and Kevan placed his hand on the center dragon’s head and Taeron put his on the bottom dragon’s head.

“Now one the count of three, push down,” Daeron instructed, before he said, “1… 2… 3!”

Doing as their uncle told them to, Taeron and Kevan were surprised when the three dragon heads moved about half a foot, before the sound of stone sliding against stone could be heard.

Looking around, they noticed that the wall opposite the statue had opened up to reveal a short hallway with a large round vault door became visible.

Both teen’s eyes widened as Taeron asked, “It that door made of?”

“Valyrian Steel?” Daeron asked. “Yes. It cost a fortune to buy enough and have it reforged into a vault door by a Qohorik smith, but considering what it’s protecting, King Daeron II thought it was well worth it.”

Recalling their family history, Taeron and Kevan knew it was King Daeron II—their great-great-grandfather—who had Summerhall built in the year 188 AC.

Walking over to the large door, Daeron pulled out a large key, which also appeared to be made of Valyrian Steel, and inserted into the lock on the door. Hearing the tumblers rolling back, Daeron grabbed the handle and began to pull open the door, but not quite enough for Taeron or Kevan to see beyond it.

With a grin, he said, “Welcome to the egg vault.”

Taeron’s and Kevan’s eyes widened at this, as Daeron pulled the door open the rest of the way to reveal a cavernous underground room with several shelves carved into the stone walls. Resting on the shelves, on black marble and ruby-studded gold holders, were a number of dragon eggs.

“We used to store these in the hatcheries on Dragonstone,” Daeron said. “But, if you remember your family history, then you know that Lady Elissa Farman stole three eggs in 54 AC. While every effort to get them back was made, they were never recovered. As long as we still had living dragons, we were content to use them to guard Dragonstone and the remaining eggs, but once the last dragon died in 153 AC, there was a fear that they might be at greater risk of theft.”

“So when King Daeron built Summerhall, he had this underground vault built and fitted with a Valyrian Steel door that can only be opened with this key, also made of Valyrian Steel. You could make a perfect copy of this key in regular steel, but it would break in the lock, as it wouldn’t have the necessary strength and durability to turn the tumblers.”

“Are these Sartax’s eggs?” Kevan asked as he spotted a shelf that held five eggs that were smaller than many of the others.

Nodding, Daeron said, “Yes, that’s the clutch of eggs laid by Sartax, the last dragon, before she died. They’ve obviously never hatched, although considering how sickly, misshapen, and stunted Sartax was, that may have been a good thing.”

“Yes, I suppose if the eggs hatched and the dragons were as sickly as their mother, that wouldn’t do anybody any good.”

Looking around the room, Taeron’s eyes soon landed upon a large red egg with black whorls and golden flecks. He wasn’t sure why but he felt drawn to it somehow.

Seeing which egg that his nephew was looking at, Daeron said, “That’s the egg that was given to Lord Ambrose Butterwell by Aegon the Unworthy. It was later taken back into the crown’s possession by Brynden Rivers in 212 AC and has been here ever since.”

Kevan, meanwhile, was looking closely at another of the eggs, this one gold, and silver with flame-colored veining.

“And this egg?” Kevan asked, who also felt inexplicably drawn to it.

“That one belonged to Uncle Aerion,” Daeron said. “Obviously it never hatched and he lost all grasp on reality and drank wildfire. I was seven at the time and I can tell you right now that I never liked him. He was fine as long as Grandfather Maekar was around, but when he wasn’t, he was a monster.”

Daeron was quiet for a moment before he added, “Anytime I had any encounters with him without grandfather around, I ended up sleeping with your Uncle Duncan for the next fortnight because Uncle Aerion had scared me so badly that I needed Duncan to hold me just so that I could feel safe enough to fall asleep and even then I still usually woke up from a nightmare at least once a night.”

Nobody said anything for a few minutes, before Taeron said, “I wonder,” before he picked up the egg that he felt drawn to and moved over to one side of the room where the carved stone shelves were empty.

“What are you doing?” Daeron asked.

Instead of answering his uncle, however, Taeron laid the egg on its side on one of the empty shelves. Holding out both of his hands, Taeron closed his eyes and bathed the egg in flame for several minutes.

Unfortunately, nothing happened.

“Damn it,” Taeron said. “I was hoping that maybe I could get it to hatch. I don’t know why, but I feel strangely drawn to this egg. Almost as if it was calling out to me.”

“It’s the same for me with Granduncle Aerion’s egg,” Kevan said. “It’s almost like there’s a voice in my head calling to me, saying that it wants me to hatch it. Not that I know how, as clearly magic isn’t enough or yours would have hatched, Tae.”

“Well, if you promise to guard them with your lives,” Daeron said, “I’ll let you take them out of the vault. There was an old family tradition of placing eggs in the cradles of newborn Targaryens, but that hasn’t been done since father’s generation, because none of the eggs ever hatched and we figured it was safer to keep them locked up and away from potential thieves.”

Shaking his head, Daeron said, “I suppose I shouldn’t even be letting you take them without asking father first, but, I’m certainly not feeling drawn to any of them, and yet you two say that you are.”

Taeron and Kevan nodded.

“Okay, well, keep it a secret that you have them,” Daeron said. “And use your magic to guard them. Father trusted me with the key to the egg vault when he made me Prince of Summerhall and I really don’t want to have to tell him that I let you two remove eggs from the vault and they got stolen.”

“Thanks, Uncle Dae,” Taeron said with a smile, as he picked up the egg and held it under one arm, as he moved over and gave his uncle a one-armed hug. “You’re the best.”

“What Tae said,” Kevan said, as he too picked up his egg, and proceeded to join Taeron in giving their uncle a one-armed hug.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s Ch7 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. So, Taeron and Kevan felt drawn to a pair of dragon eggs, but magic alone doesn’t seem to be enough to hatch them. I couldn’t let it be that easy.
> 
> The name of the last dragon has never been revealed in canon. However, I figured that the Targaryens would know the name of it, even if this story is set 102 years after she died. I chose Sertax by looking at the names of a few of the other known named dragons, such as Syrax and Vermax.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	8. The Fidelius Charm

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Eight:  
The Fidelius Charm

-o-0-o-

Upon leaving the egg vault and returning to their shared bedroom within Summerhall Palace, Taeron and Kevan considered how best to protect the secret that they now had a pair of dragon eggs in their possession.

“What about the Fidelius Charm?” Kevan asked, after about half-an-hour of kicking around various ideas. “The spell is designed to keep secrets, after all.”

“Hmm, yes that might work,” Taeron agreed. “We could cast it twice. Once for my egg and once for your egg. That way I’d be the Secret Keeper for mine and you’d be the same for yours.”

“Good idea. That way the only people who will know about them are the people we personally tell and there’s an added level of protection in that both eggs aren’t protected by the same Secret Keeper.”

“And with the Fidelius cast, we could literally carry them around with us in plain view if we wanted to. I’m not suggesting we do that mind you. But anyone who hasn’t been told wouldn’t even be able to see them even if they were in plain sight.”

With a plan set, Taeron placed his hands on his egg and closed his eyes, as he concentrated.

“ ** _Fidelis Secretum Initium,_** ” Taeron incanted. “The gold-flecked, black whorled red dragon egg once belonging to Lord Ambrose Butterwell can be found among the possessions of Taeron Targaryen. **_Fidelis Secretum Finis. Fidelis Custos Nomen_** Taeron Targaryen.”

The egg glowed for a moment, but from Taeron’s perspective, nothing changed. The same could not be said, however, for Kevan’s perspective.

“It worked,” Kevan said. “I can’t see the egg anymore.”

Taeron grinned before he leaned over and whispered the secret in Kevan’s ear, after which he darted his tongue out of his mouth and licked Kevan’s earlobe, eliciting a grin from the older teen.

Placing his hands on his egg, Kevan closed his eyes and repeated Taeron’s action. “ ** _Fidelis Secretum Initium._** The gold and silver dragon egg with flame-colored veining once belonging to Prince Aerion Targaryen can be found among the possessions of Kevan Baratheon. **_Fidelis Secretum Finis. Fidelis Custos Nomen_** Kevan Baratheon.”

Finishing the spell, Kevan grinned and did the same as Taeron had, whispering the secret in his ear, before licking his earlobe… and adding a gentle nibble for good measure.

Taeron kissed Kevan and then with a grin, he said, “I’ll be back in a minute,” before he Disapparated from the room with a pop.

When he returned, Kevan raised an eyebrow and asked, “Where’d you just go?”

“Back down to the egg vault,” Taeron said. “I know that grandfather trusted the key to the vault to Uncle Daeron, but we don’t know if it’s the only key. Somehow I doubt it, so, in case grandfather comes to Summerhall while we’re on progress and decides to visit his own egg down in the vault, he won’t see anything out of place.”

“Illusion?”

Shaking his head, Taeron said, “No, but close. I chipped away two small pebbles of rock from a darkened corner of the room and transfigured them to look like perfect copies of these eggs. So if anyone does go down there, they won’t see any empty egg stands.”

“Good thinking,” Kevan said.

“Thanks. I do have my moments.”

-o-0-o-

After they’d cast the Fidelius on their eggs, Kevan charmed his and Taeron’s trunks, adding a special compartment to both of them that was meant solely for holding their eggs. They were heavily padded and lined in silk and velvet to ensure that the eggs couldn’t be damaged.

Dragon eggs were quite durable as a general rule, but they saw no reason to take any chances, considering that their trunks would no doubt be jostled quite often once they left Summerhall to continue the progress.

With their eggs taken care of, for now, Taeron and Kevan left their room and made their way down to Summerhall’s library. Perhaps unsurprisingly since it was a Targaryen library, there was more information about dragons to be had than what they’d found at Storm’s End.

Sadly, however, there wasn’t a scrap of information about how to hatch dragons. Which made sense, honestly, considering that Taeron and Kevan both knew that their family had been trying to hatch more eggs ever since Sartax died without any success.

Among the information on dragons, they did find a few of the surviving scraps of _Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History_ by Septon Barth. Of course, there were only a few scraps left since their distant cousin, King Baelor I Targaryen known as Baelor the Blessed, had ordered all copies of the book burned, due to rumors that Barth had been more sorcerer than septon.

Taeron and Kevan both shuddered to think what their great-great-great-grandfather’s pious cousin would have thought about their magic had they been born during his reign.

“Well, this is interesting,” Taeron said, as he read one of the fragments of Barth’s work. “According to this, dragons had no set gender. They were according to him as changeable as flame, able to change their gender as needed.”

Tapping his chin, Kevan said, “So that would mean that despite laying a clutch of eggs, that Sartax wasn’t necessarily female.”

“Forgive me, Ser, I couldn’t help but overhear,” Archmaester Gyldayn said, as he approached the table and Taeron and Kevan realized that they hadn’t erected a silencing charm around their table. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in Barth’s writing if I were you.”

“Why not?” Taeron asked.

“Sartax laid eggs and was thus clearly a she-dragon,” Gyldayn said. “Just as there’s plenty of dragons who are known to have never laid a clutch. Balerion and Vermax, for example.”

“I seem to recall reading an account that said Vermax did actually lay a clutch of eggs,” Kevan said. “In the Crypts of Winterfell when Prince Jacaerys Velaryon rode Vermax there during the Dance to treat with the Starks.”

“ _The Testimony of Mushroom_ is hardly a reliable source, Ser,” Gyldayn argued. “A dwarven fool and lackwit can hardly be trusted to know what he’s talking about.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree with you, Archmaester,” Taeron said. “At least on the topic of the gender of dragons. Both Kevan and I are primarily male, and yet, we both have a fully functioning secondary reproductive system.”

Nodding, Kevan said, “Yes, if it’s possible for both Taeron and I to both sire and bear children, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible for a dragon to do the same.”

Gyldayn was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “That is a valid point which I find myself unable to immediately dismiss. It might be easier if I had actually lived during the time of dragons and been able to examine a living one.”

“Septon Barth did live in a time when dragons still lived,” Taeron pointed out. “So mightn’t it be possible that he actually did have the chance to examine a living dragon? He was King Jaeherys I’s Hand for over forty years, after all.”

“Indeed, you are correct, my prince,” Gyldayn conceded.

“As for Mushroom’s testimony,” Kevan said, “we’ll actually be going to Winterfell in a few months. Perhaps the Starks will allow us to visit the crypts.”

“Many have looked over the years, Ser,” Gyldayn said. “And nobody has ever found Vermax’s alleged clutch.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Taeron said. “My understanding is that the Winterfell crypts are quite extensive, being even larger than Winterfell itself.”

“Which makes them quite massive indeed,” Kevan said. “Considering that if my education is correct, Winterfell and Summerhall are tied as the fourth largest castles in all of Westeros, after Harrenhal, Highgarden, and Casterly Rock, in that order.”

“You are correct,” Gyldayn confirmed. “The Red Keep and Sunspear are tied for fifth place, with Storm’s End being in sixth place. Following them, the Tully’s Riverrun and Pyke are roughly the same size, with the Eyrie being the smallest of the Royal or Great Houses’ castles.”

“Anyway, if we do find dragon eggs in the crypts,” Taeron said with a grin, “we’ll be sure to let you know, Gyldayn.”

“I doubt you will, my prince,” Gyldayn said. “But, I will admit that I was wrong if you somehow succeed in doing what countless others have failed to do since Mushroom’s testimony was published.”

-o-0-o-

“Oh Seven, yes,” Kevan moaned. “Fuck me, Tae.”

Taeron smiled. “Fuck me, Kev.”

Kevan was currently lying flat on his back on a bunch of pillows thrown on the floor of his and Taeron’s bedroom. His legs, however, were up on the settee in front of him, which Taeron was kneeling on.

“Oh yes,” Kevan said. “It never even occurred to me that this could be done.”

“It was new to me too,” Taeron said, the two of them facing in opposite directions so that they could both fuck each other at the same time. “Oh Kev, right there, yes… you can thank Theo.”

“Theo?”

“Theodore Nott from Slytherin.”

“Another of your lovers, I take it,” Kevan said, although before Taeron could say anything, Kevan moaned and said, “Thank you, Theo!”

“I might normally be a bit miffed about you calling out another guy’s name while I’m fucking you,” Taeron said. “But I’ll forgive you this time.”

Both boys were currently holding the other’s forearms, as they fell silent, except for the grunts and moans that naturally accompanied being fucked… and getting fucked.

“Oh, I’m gonna…”

“So am I…” Taeron moaned a few minutes later.

“Taeron!” Kevan shouted, just as his balls contracted and he started shooting a second later.

Taeron wasn’t far behind, calling out, “Kevan!” even as he began cumming in his cousin’s arse as Kevan did the same in his.

Finishing up, they pulled out of each other and Taeron sat down on the settee, as Kevan stood up and joined him. Kissing Taeron on the lips, he said, “My only complaint about that position is that I can’t kiss you.”

“Yeah, that kind of sucks,” Taeron said with a grin, as he kissed Kevan. “But it’s still fun.”

“Oh definitely,” Kevan said. “In fact, I’m kind of hoping that Theo is among those that the Fates sent, just because I’d really like to thank him in person.”

Taeron laughed. “Yeah, I was amazed after we did that the first time. I thought he was crazy when he suggested it as I couldn’t see how it could possibly work.”

“Any other interesting positions that your various lovers taught you?” Kevan asked.

Instead of answering Kevan’s question, Taeron asked, “I hope my talking about all of the lovers I’ve had doesn’t upset you.”

“Upset me?” Kevan asked. “No, it doesn’t. As I previously said, Cedric was dead, so I didn’t expect you to be a monk.”

He paused here as he gathered his thoughts. “I will admit that I was a bit surprised and maybe even a little bit jealous when I found out just how many lovers you’ve had, but I’ve had time to adjust.”

At this Kevan grinned and said, “Besides, the idea that the Fates may have sent some of your lovers here has me looking forward to meeting them… and maybe having sex with them myself.”

Taeron laughed. “Well, I guess that’s fair… just so long as I can at least watch. Or better yet, participate.”

“Of course I’d want you to participate. I mean, you’ve had a fivesome for Seven’s sake. While it probably won’t be with a set of identical quadruplets, that’s certainly one experience I would not mind checking off my to-do list.”

Taeron grinned before he leaned over and kissed Kevan, before he said, “As for other interesting positions, there was one variation of something we’ve done which was interesting. And it was suggested by a rather unexpected source.”

“What position is that? And who was it with? I’m assuming the source that suggested it was the person it was with?”

“Correct,” Taeron confirmed. “The position in question was a sixty-nine, so definitely something we’ve done before.”

Kevan nodded as he thought back to the instances where they’d done that… as both Kevan and Taeron and as Cedric and Harry. They’d probably done it more as Cedric and Harry since they’d been dating for just over a year when Cedric died.

Since being reunited a month and a half ago, however, they were doing their level best to make up for lost time, by having as much sex as they possibly could.

“So what was different about it?”

“We did it standing up,” Taeron said, as he started counting down from three, waiting for Kevan to react to that. As expected… right on time as he got to one.

“Wait, what?” Kevan asked. “Standing up?”

Nodding, Taeron said, “Yup. We used magic to aid in it, of course, but my lover was upside down and pinned against a wall with his arms wrapped around my waist as he sucked me off and I sucked him off.”

“Um, wow, yeah that’s definitely different.”

“Yeah, I was pretty surprised when he suggested it. Not only because it’s not something I’d ever thought of trying before, but also because of who was suggesting it.”

“And who was it? Come one, Tae, inquiring minds want to know.”

With a grin, Taeron said, “Neville.”

“Neville?” Kevan asked. “You mean Neville Longbottom? Your dorm mate?”

“Yup,” Taeron answered. “He was one of my recurring flings during sixth-year.”

“I didn’t know him all that well, but I never would have suspected him to be that adventurous… or brave, for that matter. I mean being upside down like that…”

“Yeah, I know. He was putting quite a bit of trust in me since I was the one standing and holding up most of his weight. Him being pinned against a wall and some magic certainly helped, but there was still a risk of him falling on his head.”

Kevan nodded, before he got a contemplative look on his face, before he said, “Wait, Seamus, Dean, Neville… you did it with all your dorm mates, didn’t you?”

“Well, all except Ron.”

“I wasn’t counting him. Honestly, I’m trying to erase the arsewipe from my mind as if he never existed at all.”

Taeron grinned. “Works for me. It’s much nicer to imagine it just being the four of us—me, Seamus, Dean, and Neville—in Gryffindor Tower without that unnecessary fifth wheel.”

“Isn’t it though?” Kevan asked. “For what he did, just being erased from memory is mild compared to what he deserves.”

-o-0-o-

Three days later, Kevan woke up in the middle of the night with a sudden thought.

“It couldn’t be that easy,” he said, as he disentangled himself from Taeron, threw back the covers and stood up.

“What couldn’t be that easy?” Taeron asked sleepily.

“Hatching our eggs,” Kevan said, causing Taeron to instantly become more alert as he sat up.

“You had an idea?”

Nodding, as he padded across the room, as naked as the day he was born, to his trunk and opened the compartment containing his egg. “House Targaryen’s words.”

While more alert at the mention of hatching their eggs, it was a second before Taeron’s brain was firing on enough cylinders to react to Kevan’s suggestion. “Fire and blood… hmm. Maybe. It seems too simple though. Surely one of our ancestors has already tried it.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. It’s not like we have detailed accounts of what they have and haven’t tried. The only way we know for sure that someone attempted to hatch their egg was when Baelor the Blessed prayed over it for six moons.”

“Which didn’t work,” Taeron said, as he got out of bed and moved over to his own trunk, wanting to try it himself.

“Maybe the combination of fire, blood, and magic will work,” Kevan said. “It’s worth a try, anyway.”

Taeron nodded. “Let’s try it then.”

Neither one of them said anything as they took out their eggs and each slit their hand with a dagger. Placing their palms on the eggs and letting them bleed on them for a moment, they quickly healed their wounds and then bathed their eggs in flames from their fingertips.

They stopped two minutes later and looked at their eggs.

Nothing had happened.

The flames dried the blood, but there was no sign of the eggs hatching.

“Well, maybe it needs a little time?” Kevan asked, his tone unsure.

“Perhaps,” Taeron said, as he thought back to his first year and added, “You know, I just remembered, Hagrid hatched a dragon egg back in my first year that he won playing cards.”

“Really? Do you remember how?”

Even though Harry and Cedric had been dating for just over a year when Cedric died—getting together about a month before the end of Harry’s third year—Taeron realized that he’d never actually told him about Hagrid and Norbert… or Norberta as he later learned from Charlie.

“He boiled the egg in a cauldron of water over his fireplace for a time,” Taeron recalled. “I don’t know how long exactly. Although, now that I think about it, there was a very big difference between Hagrid’s egg and ours.”

“What’s that?”

“His egg was like an actual egg,” Taeron replied. “I mean it was the same size as our eggs, but the shell itself was like a thicker version of a chicken egg. About three to four inches thick, sure, but still visibly eggshell. Not stone, like ours.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Cedric said. “I remember that the real eggs from the Triwizard Tournament were actual eggshells, so half of them broke when Viktor blinded his dragon and made it stumble around and step on them.”

“I know dragons are heavy, but I don’t think these eggs would have broken if a dragon stepped on them. As they are still as hard as stone.”

Kevan nodded. “I suppose that could be chalked up to a difference between breeds on Earth compared to Westeros. Or, it could also have something to do with the age of the egg. The egg that Hagrid hatched and the ones in the tournament were probably recently laid.”

“Whereas both of these eggs were laid over a hundred years ago,” Taeron said. “I can magically sense that there is still life in the egg and it wants me to hatch it, but it’s not giving me any clues on how to do that.”

“Same. Well, we can try keeping them over heat for a while, see if that does anything. If not, well, then I don’t know.”

“I suppose if that doesn’t work, we can try taking them to Dragonstone. Maybe they need the kind of heat that only an active volcano like the Dragonmont can provide. As the Crown Prince, my father is Prince of Dragonstone, so it shouldn’t be too hard to arrange a visit after we return to King’s Landing from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.”

Nodding, Kevan said, “Yes, and if that doesn’t work, well, we’ll just have to figure out some way of venturing to Valyria, even if we have to use magical persuasion.”

“I can practically guarantee that magical persuasion will be necessary to get both my grandparents and my parents to agree to let me go to Valyria. Considering that nobody that’s gone there after the Doom has ever returned, there’s simply no way that they’ll agree without it.”

“True,” Kevan agreed. “Even though I’m of age and knighted, I think I can safely say that my parents would do everything within their power to prevent me from going too.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it,” Taeron said. “Anyway, we’ll give the eggs until morning to see if just the fire and blood did the trick. If not, then we can try boiling them.”

“Sounds good,” Kevan said before he pinched Taeron’s arse and ran back towards the bed as the blond chased after him.

They did eventually go back to sleep, but it wasn’t until after a round of other more strenuous activities.

-o-0-o-

When they woke up the next morning, their eggs still hadn’t hatched, so they tried the boiling water approach that had worked for Hagrid.

They were forced to admit defeat, for now, on the morning of the Second Day of the Twelfth Turn, as their trunks—their unhatched eggs safely stowed away inside of them—were loaded onto the supply wagon as they prepared to leave Summerhall.

There were now about a dozen more wagons joining the progress, all weighed down with hay, oats, barley, and other feed for the horses since they wouldn’t be able to graze as the party moved through the deserts of Dorne.

In the last days of their stay at Summerhall, Taeron and Kevan did sneak out of their room under the cover of Notice-me-Not and Disillusionment Charms to increase the amount of water the progress would be carrying.

They did this by waiting until the servants had filled several of the kegs, but then before they could be loaded onto the supply wagons, Kevan charmed the kegs to reduce the weight so that they’d appear to be empty, while Taeron enlarged the interiors with Wizard Space. They then altered the memories of the servants responsible for filling them to make them forget that they’d already filled them.

They repeated this action several times with all of the kegs until they were all holding about five times the normal amount of water. Considering that the horses alone would need to drink up to twelve gallons of water per day, they wanted to make sure they had ample supplies of it.

As far as they were concerned, it was far better to have way more than they needed than to get halfway across the desert and find all of the kegs empty. Preservation Charms were also cast to ensure that all the extra water would stay fresh and clean.

Mounting up, Taeron smiled at Kevan, Daeron, and Jeremy and said, “Well, Sunspear, here we come!”

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s Ch8 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. As you can see, they haven’t had much luck with hatching their eggs so far. I promise you they will be hatched at some point. The only questions are when and by what means.
> 
> As for the eight, other than Theo, there was at least one character mentioned by name in this chapter that is one of the eight. Who they were on Earth and are in Westeros, however… you’ll just have to wait and see.
> 
> I’ll give you this clue. Including Kevan/Cedric, but not including Taeron/Harry, the eight is comprised of two people from each Hogwarts house. As I’ve already revealed Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini, that means there are no more Slytherins among the eight, but there are two Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws, and one more Hufflepuff.
> 
> Could other characters beyond the eight show up? Maybe. But the eight will be the members of Harry’s harem, so I can also say that they’re all male. Beyond that, my lips are sealed.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	9. The Boneway

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Nine:  
The Boneway

-o-0-o-

Leaving Summerhall, the royal progress moved south along the Boneway through the Dornish Marches. Of course, they were still in the Stormlands despite the area being called that.

Keeping up the established pace, riding for five hours a day for six days and resting on the seventh, they were making good time. By the time the camp was set up on the evening of the Seventh Day of the Twelfth Turn—six days out of Summerhall and ninety-two days out of King’s Landing—they had put seventy-five miles between them and the Targaryen summer palace.

“Oh, yes, right there,” Taeron moaned from where he was sitting lying face down on his bedroll.

Of course, his so-called bedroll was a lot nicer than what most of the men were sleeping on. He still wasn’t entirely happy with the Fates for making him royalty in this life, especially since he’d have to sit on that god's awful ugly and dangerous throne one day.

There were advantages to the whole royalty thing, Taeron had to admit. One of them was that unlike most of those traveling with the progress, Taeron had an actual bed. Well, perhaps cot would be a better word. He wasn’t sleeping on the floor, however.

Kevan grinned. “You sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Hell yes. Oh yeah, right there, oh yes.”

Kevan shook his head as he imagined what people would think was going on right now if it wasn’t for the Silencing Charm on the royal pavilion. Undoubtedly they’d hear Taeron moaning and think that he and Kevan were having sex.

That wasn’t the case, however. Oh, they probably would at some point, but right now, Kevan was massaging Taeron’s arse and thighs with a special liniment to ease his saddle-soreness. Even with the spells they’d both used to make their saddles more comfortable, being in them for five hours a day was hard on the arse, especially when they were traveling over rougher terrain.

As Kevan finished his ministrations, he stood up a bit stiffly and pushed his breeches and smallclothes down, before he laid down next to Taeron on the double-wide cot—they’d used magic to turn their separate cots into a single cot whenever camp was set up—and said, “Okay, my turn now.”

“That means I have to move,” Taeron whined. “I’m comfortable.”

“No offense, but right now, with my arse and thighs practically on fire, I really couldn’t care less.”

When Taeron didn’t move, Kevan added, “Come on, Tae, fair is fair. I massaged yours even though crouching down didn’t do me any favors. Now the least you can do is return the favor since I know how fast that liniment works and you’re not in as much pain as I am.”

“You’re a master of guilt.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, in both lives,” Kevan answered.

-o-0-o-

An hour later, after both of them were relatively pain-free—any pain they felt now was the far more pleasurable kind that was due to fucking each other instead of the less pleasurable saddle soreness—Taeron and Kevan laid next to each other and were just quiet for a few minutes.

“You know, after being on progress for over three moons now,” Taeron said, “I’ve gotta say that I really miss trains… enough that I’m half-tempted to use my memories from Earth to bring an industrial revolution to Westeros.”

Being familiar with the Hogwarts Express, Kevan nodded, “I can definitely see the appeal. I mean it’s approximately 450 miles from London King’s Cross to Hogsmeade Station… which takes about eight hours.”

“At the speed we’ve been going on horseback that would take about thirty days,” Taeron said before he grinned and added. “Of course, it would take only a few seconds on the Knight Bus, but let’s not push it.”

“True. Besides, there’s a reason there’s only one Knight Bus. Not only because the vast majority of the wizarding world saw it as only emergency transport, but also because the spells necessary to make it go that fast are proprietary family secrets, known only to the Prang and Shunpike families.”

“I didn’t know that. So, in other words, unless the Fates sent Ernie Prang or Stan Shunpike here, we have no way of reproducing it.”

“Nope,” Kevan confirmed.

“Oh well,” Taeron said after both of them had fallen silent for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts. “I suppose short of introducing trains, if we ever manage to hatch our dragon eggs, maybe we should at least use them to shape stone the way the Valyrians did.”

“Yeah, that would be a good idea.” Kevan paused here for a moment, before he said, “You know, I never understood why the Conqueror or one of the later kings while dragons were still a thing never thought to use them to put in Valyrian roads here in Westeros. Even if you kept it limited to the Kingsroad, the Roseroad, the Goldroad, and the Ocean Road, it would still be a vast improvement over the current dirt tracks.”

Nodding, Taeron said, “Yeah, and it would have also been a far better way to utilize the dragons during peacetime than to simply lock them away in the Dragonpit.”

“True. It’s a crumbling ruin now, but I can tell you this, if we ever do hatch our eggs, I’m not keeping my dragon in the Dragonpit, even if it got rebuilt.”

“Yeah, me either. I think that wretched building is at least partly to blame for the death of the dragons, as the pit dragons never grew as large as the ones that didn’t grow up inside it.”

-o-0-o-

Four days later, the royal progress arrived at Blackhaven, the seat of the Stormlander House Dondarrion, where they rested for the next two days.

When their time at Blackhaven came to an end, Taeron sighed internally as he mounted his horse, Swiftsnow, named because he was fast and had a pure white coat, and white mane and tail. At the same time, Kevan mounted his own horse, Stormheart, which was a very handsome horse with a mostly tan coat, with its mane, tail, and the lower third of its legs being black.

Once everyone was mounted up, Taeron raised his first and called out, “Ride,” as the progress rode out of Blackhaven’s courtyard and continued south.

Taeron’s sigh was because he knew that it would be over a fortnight before they reached their next destination, which was Castle Wyl, the seat of the Dornish House Wyl.

Situated very near the border between the Stormlands and Dorne, it was agreed by all involved parties that the Stormlands guards provided by Lord Ormund Baratheon would accompany the progress as far as Wyl before turning to head back home, while the ruling Princess of Dorne, Princess Elyria Nymeros-Martell, would ensure that guards from Dorne would be waiting at Wyl to accompany the progress south and east from Wyl to Sunspear.

It was over dinner in the royal pavilion on the night of the Twenty-First Day of the Twelfth Turn, a sennight out of Blackhaven, that Taeron asked, “Princess Elyria is related to us, isn’t she?”

Daeron nodded. “Yes, her mother is Father’s sister Rhae, so she’s his niece and my first cousin.”

“She’s actually got blood ties to the Targaryens on both sides of her family though,” Jeremy said after he washed down the bite of his dinner with some wine. “As her late father, Prince Daeron Nymeros-Martell, who died five years ago, was the great-grandson of Princess Daenerys, who was the younger sister of King Daeron II.”

“Ah, yes,” Kevan said. “Daenerys married Prince Maron Nymeros-Martell and it was that union that officially brought Dorne under the dominion of the Iron Throne.”

Nodding, Daeron said, “Correct. Even though all of the Targaryen kings going back as far as the Conqueror himself have been styled as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, there were only six kingdoms under Targaryen rule until 187 AC when Prince Maron officially bent the knee to King Daeron II, following his marriage to Princess Daenerys.”

With a grin, Taeron said, “Then I guess that means that Lewyn is related to us too since Elyria is his sister.”

“Yes, he is,” Daeron said. “In most of the other kingdoms, they follow the Andal tradition, so if he’d been born almost anywhere but Dorne then he would never have been a Kingsguard, as he would have become the lord of the family seat upon his father’s death, even though his sister two years older.”

“Except that the Dornish follow Rhoynish custom,” Kevan said, “which is that the eldest child regardless of gender is usually the heir.”

“Indeed,” Jeremy said. “Which is why Elyria is the ruling Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear, while Lewyn joined the Kingsguard.”

“They have another brother don’t they?” Taeron asked.

Nodding, Daeron said, “They actually have more than one, although only one full sibling, their younger brother Prince Dorian, who is twelve years younger than Elyria and ten years younger than Lewyn.”

“That means he’s the same age as me,” Taeron said, as he glanced over at Kevan, wordlessly conveying the question of whether or not Dorian might be somebody from Earth.

Kevan shrugged almost imperceptibly. “They have other siblings?”

“Yes, although they’re bastard half-siblings,” Jeremy replied. “Of course, in Dorne bastards are generally treated a lot better than they are in the other Seven Kingdoms, especially if they’re the children of a lord’s recognized paramour, which all four of Elyria, Lewyn, and Dorian’s bastard brothers are.”

“As Dornish bastards they all bear the name Sand,” Daeron said, “although two of them are technically Targaryens.”

Nodding, Jeremy said, “Yes, twins Jaekar and Jaeron Sand, sired by Rhea upon her paramour, the late Allyria Dayne, who died in childbirth.”

Motioning to himself, Kevan, and Daeron, Taeron asked, “I take it that Grandaunt Rhea is like us, only having a secondary male reproductive system?”

“Yes,” Daeron confirmed. “Aunt Rhea can both carry and sire children. So, yes, she does have a cock, although, like all women with the secondary system, the cock and balls are only visible every third month when they descend from the pouch that they’re normally hidden inside of.”

“And since she sired them upon Allyria,” Jeremy added, “there was never any doubt as to whether or not Jaekar and Jaeron might be the late Prince Daeron’s kids or not. As he never laid with Allyria, since he had his own paramour, who bore him the other two brothers, Arran and Errac Sand.”

“Being Dorne, Jaekar, Jaeron, Arran, and Errac have been raised alongside their trueborn siblings,” Daeron said. “And there’s no enmity. Especially not among the four of them, as Aunt Rhae’s letters reveal that Jaekar and Arran are a couple, as are Jaeron and Errac. Although, Aunt Rhae suspects that in private, all four of them are actually together.”

“Huh, interesting,” Taeron said. “That must be a little strange for their shared siblings.”

Kevan, Daeron, and Jeremy nodded, but nothing further was said as they finished dinner. They all enjoyed an after-dinner drink as they chatted about various topics before both couples decided to retire to their private sections of the tent for some fun before bed.

-o-0-o-

“Taeron,” a voice whispered, prompting Taeron to look around and try to see who was saying his name. He couldn’t see anything, however, as it was pitch black.

One thing he did notice, however, was that he wasn’t in his bed as he was standing upright and there was no sign of Kevan lying next to him.

“Taeron Targaryen,” the voice said again, this time louder.

“Who’s there?” Taeron called out.

There was complete silence for a moment before the darkness parted and a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Who are you?” Taeron asked, determined not to be afraid, as he looked at the figure whose face was completely shrouded in darkness.

The dark black cloak and hood were only barely visible against the darkness of wherever here was.

The figure’s head tilted to the right ever so slightly and it was silent for a moment, before it said, “I’m known by many names and many faces. In Essos I’m best known as the Many-Faced God and to those of the Faith of the Seven, as the Stranger.”

A chill ran down Taeron’s back at this, as he realized that he was talking to the Westerosi equivalent of Death.

“Mors, Letum,” the figure said. “Although, for you Harry Potter, Master of Death, I think you’d know me best as Thanatos.”

There was a flash of gold from beneath the hood and after a moment Taeron realized that it was the figure’s eyes glowing. A second later, it reached up and lowered its hood, as the light level in the room rose and Taeron saw a handsome black-haired, brown-eyed man with a black goatee and black stubble standing before him. He could just barely make out the outline of a large pair of black wings folded upon the man’s back.

“Thanatos,” Taeron said. “The one who was pestering the Fates to send me here?”

“Indeed, Master,” Thanatos said. “A curious thing that title, Master of Death. So many of those who have sought the Deathly Hallows believe that it means that I would become their servant. That isn’t the case, however, as a mortal cannot command a god. Besides, back on Earth, I gifted the Peverell brothers with my Hallows… why in the name of Zeus would I ever give away items which if united by a single person would make me that person’s slave?”

Taeron considered that for a moment before he nodded. “Yes, that would be rather stupid.”

“Indeed. What the title actually means, as I know you’re dying to know, is that you become something of a favorite of mine and are effectively immortal while the Hallows are you in your possession.”

“Well, I must not be immortal anymore then,” Taeron said. “The Hallows were taken from me when I was imprisoned and locked away in a vault in the Hague.”

Thanatos laughed. “Really? Check your pockets.”

Taeron tilted his head to one side before he patted his pockets and found… wait, he was sure that wasn’t there when he’d gone to bed.

Then again he was quite sure that he didn’t even have any pockets when he’d gone to bed, seeing as how he’d been completely naked at the time since he and Kevan had seen no point in getting out of bed and getting dressed after sex just to turn around and get right back into bed to go to sleep.

Reaching into the left side pocket of his trousers, which he realized were a pair of black jeans like what he’d owned on Earth rather than anything he now owned in Westeros, he pulled out the shimmering silver Cloak of Invisibility.

Draping it over his arm, Taeron reached into his right side pocket and from within it pulled out the Elder Wand, before he felt a lump in his back right pocket. Swapping the Elder Wand into his left hand, Taeron reached back and low and behold, there was the Resurrection Stone.

“How?”

“The Hallows cannot be taken from their owner once united,” Thanatos answered. “The only way for them to change hands is if you willingly give them away. Or if you annoy me sufficiently for me to reclaim them by force. You, however, have never come anywhere close to that point, as it takes quite a lot to annoy me.”

“This is a dream, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Thanatos answered. “When you wake up you’ll find yourself naked once more in the loving embrace of Kevan Baratheon. The Hallows, however, will be in your trunk, in the hidden compartment with your dragon egg.”

“Speaking of the egg…”

“No, I cannot tell you how to hatch it. That is something that you must discover on your own. All I can say is that you will figure it out before the dawning of a new decade.”

“Can you at least tell me if it’ll be before or after the royal progress?”

“After,” Thanatos said, after a moment. Smiling, he added, “You were on the right track when you posited the idea of venturing to the ruins of Valyria. It’s a dark and dangerous place, although you won’t be going alone. Together with the eight and maybe a few more, you’ll be able to do what so many before you have been unable to do.”

Shaking his head, he said, “But, I’ve said too much on that subject, and no I cannot tell you the identities of any of the others that my sisters the Fates have sent. You will find them all in good time.”

“May I ask why you’re here?”

“I was curious to see what your new life was like. Also, my sisters are too busy to come to you themselves, but they wanted you to know that it greatly amuses them when you refer to yourself as their bitch.”

Rolling his eyes, the sarcasm was evident in Taeron’s tone, as he said, “I’m so pleased to be of service.”

Thanatos laughed himself for a moment before he turned serious and said, “On a more serious note, however, they realize that you were not thrilled with their choice to put you in the place of Prince Taeron Targaryen… a child that your mother would have miscarried before she even realized that she was with child if not for their intervention.”

“If they know I wasn’t going to be happy being royalty, why’d they do it?”

“It was necessary,” Thanatos said. “Turn around and I’ll show you something that would have happened if you’d never been born.”

Taeron raised an eyebrow before he turned around. After a moment the room lightened and he found himself standing in the Throne Room of the Red Keep.

“Who is that filthy and unkempt man on the Iron Throne?” Taeron asked.

He could only see the man from the front, but from what he could see he had long gray, unkempt, and matted hair which went far below his shoulders. His beard was tangled and his fingernails looked more like foot long yellow talons. He was also very thin and gaunt-looking and from what Taeron could see if his skin, covered in scabs and cuts, presumably from the blades of the Iron Throne.

“A vision from the future,” Thanatos said. “A vision which thanks to your birth will never occur, but the Fates thought it best that you see just why they placed you in the life they did.”

“How far into the future?” Taeron asked, as he again tilted his head to one side and studied the man. It certainly wasn’t his grandfather or his father. Peering at him closely, he did see some of the Targaryen features, but he had never seen this man before in his life, as he would definitely have remembered.

“The year is 282 AC,” Thanatos said. “And that man on the throne is the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, known by many as King Scab and the Mad King… you know him, however, as your brother.”

Taeron’s eyes widened, as he shook his head and said, “No, it can’t be. He looks far too old. If it’s 282 AC then he should only be 38 years old… that man looks like he’s twice that age.”

“The years have not been kind to him,” Thanatos said. “But that is indeed His Grace Aerys II Targaryen.”

Before Taeron could say anything, the room filled with people, including a muscular man in full plate armor who was standing in front of the throne and looking up at Aerys with a defiant look on his face.

“Who’s that man?”

“Rickard Stark,” Thanatos said. “The Lord Paramount and Warden of the North. His son and heir, Brandon, has been arrested on suspicion of trying to kill the crown prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. Lord Stark demanded a trial by combat to clear his son of the charges. They were completely untrue, by the way. I’m afraid by this point in his life, Aerys is quite mad and paranoid. He sees enemies everywhere and has had dozens executed for imagined crimes.”

“I am ready,” Rickard said. “Name your champion.”

Aerys laughed and said, “Not so fast. Bring in the accused… if a trial by combat is to be fought on his behalf he should be able to witness it.”

A door opened and a pair of guards dragged a young man with shoulder-length black hair into the room. By the look of him, he couldn’t have been more than twenty. Taeron couldn’t help but notice that the man had a thick leather collar around his neck which was attached to a long thick leather cord. While he had never visited the Free City of Tyrosh, or anywhere else in Essos, Taeron was well-read enough to know just be seeing it that it was a Tyroshi Choking Collar.

Lord Stark looked like he wanted to object, but before he could two more guards grabbed him and quickly disarmed him, before they placed heavy iron chains under his armpits and hoisted him up towards the rafters of the throne room, above a canvas-covered pile of something on the floor.

As this happened, the end of the choking collar was securely fastened to one of the heavy stone pillars of the throne room and an iron longsword was placed just out of Brandon Stark’s reach.

“Lord Rickard Stark,” Aerys said. “You demanded a trial by combat and you shall have it. The champion of House Targaryen is…” he paused for only half a second before, he screamed, “…FIRE!!”

It was at this point, that the canvas cover beneath Rickard’s feet was pulled to one side to reveal a large pile of firewood. Motioning towards a slightly hunched over and hooded man, Aerys said it, “Rossart, light it up!”

“With pleasure, Your Grace,” the man said, with an oily and cruel voice, as he pulled a large vial from inside a pocket of his tunic and Taeron’s eyes widened as he recognized the slightly glowing green liquid within.

Wildfire.

Tossing the vial onto the firewood it smashed, as Rossart lit a match and threw it onto the wildfire soaked wood, as Brandon screamed, “NO!!”

“By the Old Gods,” Rickard muttered, as he closed his eyes, even as he was engulfed in green flames.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead, as he was cooked to death inside of his armor. He couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips as he realized that there was no way in the Seven Hells that he was going to survive this.

“DAMN YOU AERYS!!” Brandon yelled as he struggled to reach the sword so that he could cut the heavy leather strap that connected the chains holding his father over the flames to a nearby pillar. And as Rickard began to scream in agony, Brandon screamed, “FATHER!!” as he redoubled his efforts to reach the sword.

Of course, because of the choking collar around his neck, Brandon soon fell to his knees, gasping for air, as he choked himself in the process of trying to save his father.

As the screams of Rickard Stark fell silent and his head went limp, a gasping and still struggling Brandon gasped out, “May the Old Gods and the New curse you, Aerys Targaryen. The… North… Remembers and Winter... is... Coming... for you!”

Brandon heaved one last strangled gasp before he fell over dead. Before Taeron could say a word, however, the image of Rickard and Brandon vanished, only to be replaced by several flashes of events, which reminded Taeron of watching a video on fast forward.

Taeron could only shake his head in utter horror, as he watched more and more people get executed by fire as the man on the throne, his own little brother, laughed like a demented madman.

After each person burned, a female voice, full of anguish cried out, “No! Aerys, please no. You’re hurting me!”

Finally, the images slowed and Taeron could only see that the throne room was now empty, except for Aerys, Rossart, and a single golden-haired Kingsguard knight.

“Rossart, it’s time,” Aerys said. “The fools march on the Red Keep, but I shall have the last laugh. King’s Landing will be destroyed in the fire and I shall become a dragon.”

The Kingsguard started at this, which Aerys saw and laughed. “Oh Ser Jaime, what’s wrong? Didn’t you know? I’ve had Rossart here and the rest of the Alchemist’s Guild working overtime, brewing me a veritable lake of wildfire. It’s been buried in caches throughout the city and all the fools of this wretched city and those who lay siege to it and would plot against me shall perish in FIRE AND BLOOD!”

Turning to his pyromancer, Aerys said, “Rossart, light the caches.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Rossart said, although before he could move more than a foot, the golden-haired Kingsguard pulled out his sword and ran him through.

Aerys who was too busy laughing like a madman and ranting about how all the wretched fools would die and their sacrifice would make him a dragon to even notice that Rossart was bleeding out on the steps up to the throne's dais where he'd fallen.

“Burn them all!” he shouted, even as Ser Jaime, with a determined look on his face came up behind the oblivious King.

“BURN THEM ALL!” Aerys screamed at the top of his lungs, before screaming in pain as Ser Jaime impaled his king through the back with his sword.

As the mortally wounded Aerys dropped to his knees, Ser Jaime pulled his sword free and kicked him in the back of the head, as he fell flat on his face, his crown clattering over the stone floor. The images faded away just as Ser Jaime sat down on the Iron Throne, his bloody sword laying across his lap.

Taeron was quiet for several long moments, as he closed his eyes and took several heaving breaths, shaking his head from side to side as he tried to recover from the dance of images he’d just seen.

“My little brother…” Taeron whispered. “Sweet little Aerys… what happened to you?”

“As I said earlier,” Thanatos said, “the years have not been kind to him. His wife miscarried several children and gave birth to several stillborns. And most of those that survived being born died in infancy. That alone would have been enough to push anyone into madness, but the final straw was when Lord Darklyn of Duskendale took him hostage for six months. Whatever shreds of sanity Aerys still had before that vanished as he sat in solitary confinement in the Duskendale dungeons until he was rescued. The first thing he did upon his rescue was to order that every man, woman, and child of House Darklyn be exterminated.”

Shaking his head, Thanatos added, “That experience aged him more than anything else, as he become paranoid of everyone. He refused to wash and developed a severe case of haphepobia—the fear of being touched—and as a result, he refused to allow anyone to cut his hair or trim his beard or cut his fingernails. He also feared poison and barely ate or drank, leading to his thin and gaunt appearance.”

Turning back to Thanatos, Taeron asked, “Who was that crying woman?”

Thanatos sighed. “Aerys’s Queen… your sister, Rhaella. His fascination with fire developed to the point of sexual arousal and he brutally raped her after every person he burned alive.”

“And none of this is going to happen?”

Nodding, Thanatos said, “Correct. Your birth changed many things, Taeron, and set this world on a different path. You were known as the Savior of the Wizarding World in your last life, well, as much as you might not like it, you are very much the Savior of the Seven Kingdoms in this one.

“The moment you were born, you saved hundreds by changing the future. A future where Aerys Targaryen will never become King and as a result, he won’t descend into madness and do all of the horrific things you just witnessed.”

“Will I?” Taeron asked, after a long moment of silence. “Go mad that is? My father told me once that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Shaking his head, Thanatos said, “No, Taeron, you will not, I think. You’ll be surrounded by far too much love and support for that to ever happen.”

After a second’s paused, he added, “I won’t lie and tell you that madness doesn’t run in your family, as it does. I’m afraid it’s a symptom of inbreeding. The ancient Valyrians had magic and several spells to limit the effects and allow them to safely wed brother to sister or an uncle to a niece or other incestuous combinations, but much was lost in the Doom, including that knowledge.

“It may be possible to retrieve it from the ruins of Valyria,” Thanatos added, “although just by having a magical core, any negative side effect of your parents being brother and sister was lessened.”

With a smile, “The injection of fresh blood from both your grandmother and great-grandmother, neither of them Targaryens by blood, also lessened those effects for your parents and siblings. Aerys and Rhaella do not have magic and thus there is the possibility of madness, but it would have to be triggered by some outside force. Such as the Defiance of Duskendale for Aerys or repeated brutal rapes for Rhaella.”

“And my birth has prevented those events?”

“Yes,” Thanatos said. He was quiet for a moment, before he said, “Now so that you don’t have nightmares for the rest of your life, I will lock the memories of that future that will never happen away deep in your subconscious. You’ll still be vaguely aware of them so that you will hopefully stop complaining about your lot in this life, but they won’t trouble your dreams.”

Reaching out with one hand and touching Taeron’s forehead, Thanatos smiled. “No, sleep, Taeron Targaryen and in a few hours, wake safe and secure in the arms of that sexy stud muffin of yours. Hufflepuff Hottie, indeed. Whether it’s in this life or his previous one, that boy is literally sex on legs and you are a very lucky young man... especially considering that he won't be your only partner in this life.”

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s Ch9 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven.’ This one took a bit longer because after writing Chapters 1-8 over 22 days, I needed to take a little break from writing. I was still working on my notes and future plans for this story, however, so the time wasn’t completely unproductive.
> 
> So, quite a bit happened in this chapter. Taeron got the Hallows back and was given a glimpse of what would have happened if he had never been born.
> 
> During the final scene when Thanatos was showing Taeron the future, the chapter originally said that it was occurring in 272 AC and that Aerys was 28 years old. I'd figured I'd set the date 10 years back due to my decision to have Robert and Stannis Baratheon born 10 years earlier than in canon.
> 
> I've now edited this chapter so that Aerys is 38 and it was the canon year of 282 AC when Rickard and Brandon Stark died. After some thought, I realized that any changes made to dates from canon can be explained as changes the Fates made when they wove Harry's thread into the tapestry. So if Harry had refused their offer, then everything would have played out the same as in canon, including Robert and Stannis being born the same year as in canon.
> 
> There’s a poll running on my group, https://groups.io/g/storiesbyjayson/topic/poll_prophecy_of_the_seven/75961744, to gauge the interest for a collection of 25 canon HP characters to be reincarnated in Westeros by the Fates. None of the characters on this list are among the eight the Fates mentioned, but they could possibly be brought to Westeros if there’s enough interest. I think I’ll keep the poll open for another week, until the 21 August 2020. So, if you like, check it and vote. For those reading this on FFNet, the link above won’t show, so you can find the group link in my profile.
> 
> Also, I’ve turned off the friend of a friend mode on my Facebook, so if you’d like to be able to get story updates from me there, which are all friends-locked, feel free to friend me. It’s jayson.vascardi.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	10. The Master of Death

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Ten:  
The Master of Death

-o-0-o-

As Thanatos had predicted, Taeron awoke a few hours later to find himself in the royal pavilion, with Kevan spooning him. He smiled contentedly, as he took a moment to revel in the feel of Kevan’s strong arms holding him tight and Kevan’s legs intertwined with his own.

After a moment, he grinned and wriggled his arse against Kevan’s morning hard-on, dislodging it slightly from where it had been nestled between his butt cheeks.

“Morning Tae,” Kevan said, a bit sleepily, as he kissed the back of Taeron’s neck.

“Morning Kev,” Taeron said, before he said, “As much as I’d like to stay in your arms forever, can you let go? My bladder has a rather urgent appointment with the chamber pot.”

Kevan let go as he rolled over onto his back, disentangling his legs from Taeron’s in the process as Taeron pushed back the covers, stood up, blushed at Kevan’s wolf whistle, and made his way over to the corner of their enclosed section of the tent behind a dressing screen where they kept the chamber pot.

Finishing his business, Taeron waved his hand over the pot and vanished its contents. If anyone in the camp noticed that the chamber pots in the royal pavilion never needed to be emptied into the privy holes that were dug at each campsite, nobody commented on it.

Kevan came over to use the pot himself as Taeron was leaving the area, leading to the other boy playfully pinching the older boy’s arse as they passed each other.

Remembering his dream, Taeron moved over to his trunk and pressed his hand against a bronze plate on the front of it as he whispered the passcode necessary to access the hidden compartment that held his dragon egg. Lifting the lid, Taeron saw his egg, along with the Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand, and his trusty invisibility cloak.

“Oh I missed you,” Taeron muttered as he ran his hand over the shimmering silver fabric. “Now, if only Thanatos had seen fit to give me my Firebolt.”

With a small flash of golden light, a small scroll appeared out of thin air on top of the cloak. Picking it up and unrolling it, Taeron read the short missive.

> **_Taeron,_ **
> 
> **_It will be 256 AC in less than a month and I did tell you that you’d be hatching your dragon egg before the new decade. I know you want to fly, but be patient, will you? Besides riding a broom, even one as fast as your Firebolt, will pale drastically in comparison to riding a dragon. Once you’ve done one, you’ll never want to do the other again. Trust me._ **
> 
> **_\--Thanatos_ **
> 
> **_P.S. We don’t toss a coin._ **

“What are you looking at so intently?”

His back to Kevan, Taeron grinned mischievously as he answered, “A note from the Stranger.”

“A stranger left a note in your trunk?”

“No, no, not a stranger,” Taeron said, as he stood and turned to face Kevan. “The Stranger,” placing a particular emphasis on the word ‘the’.

Kevan did a double-take, as he said, “I’m sorry, what?”

Taeron giggled. “You are so adorable when you’re naked and confused.”

Rolling his eyes, Kevan shook his head and said, “You expect me to be anything but confused when you say that you’ve got a note from the Stranger?”

“The Stranger, the Many-Faced God, Mors, Letum, Thanatos, he has many names and many faces.”

“Okay, and why would you be getting a note from him?”

“He appeared to me in a dream last night,” Taeron answered. “Showed me some very unsettling images from what the future of Westeros would have been if I hadn’t accepted the Fates’ offer of being reborn here.”

“What kind of images?”

“Aerys becoming the king,” Taeron said as he gulped a bit. The images were locked away, but he could vaguely remember the details, more so if he actively concentrated on recalling the memories which he really would rather not do.

“What’s so unsettling about cousin Aerys becoming king?”

Taeron sighed. “Life was unkind to him in that other future. His wife, our sister Rhaella, suffered multiple miscarriages, gave birth to several stillborns, and of those that survived birth, most died in infancy, with only three surviving to adulthood. The Targaryen madness reared its ugly head, but he managed to stay mostly sane until finally, he snapped.”

“What happened?”

“Lord Darklyn of Duskendale rebelled and captured him before holding him prisoner in solitary confinement for six months. When he got out… well, let’s just say that he became extremely paranoid, stopped caring about personal hygiene, became so sexually aroused by burning people alive with wildfire that he did it more and more and would then rape Rhaella after each time, driving her at least partially mad in the process. Oh and he hid caches of wildfire all over King’s Landing and was going to blow it and all of its citizens up to become a dragon.”

Kevan shuddered. “Holy shit, that’s bad.”

“You’re telling me.”

Kevan nodded fervently, as he came over, wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, and just held him for a few minutes. Finally, he asked, “So why Thanatos and not the Fates?”

“They were too busy,” Taeron said. “And I’m the Master of Death.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Taeron looked confused for a second before realization hit. “Oh, that’s right, you died before I united the Hallows and I suppose I left that part out of my retelling of what all happened after you died.”

Nodding, Kevan said, “Yes, you did, Tae. I think I would have remembered if you’d said anything about Hallows and being the Master of Death. What does that even mean? And what are these Hallows?”

“You’ve heard The Tale of the Three Brothers by Beadle the Bard?” Taeron asked, prompting Kevan to nod. “Well, it’s true. The three brothers were Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell, who were each given a boon by Death, also known as Thanatos.”

Walking back over to his trunk, Taeron pulled out the Elder Wand and turned to show it to Kevan. “Look familiar?”

Kevan cocked his head to one side as he studied the wand for a moment, before he asked, “Isn’t that Professor Dumbledore’s wand?”

Taeron nodded. “Yes, but not his original wand. He won this one in a duel… his most famous duel, against Gellert Grindelwald, who’d taken it from wandmaker Mykew Gregorovitch years earlier. This is the Elder Wand, the single-most powerful wand ever created, capable of doing feats of magic that no other wand is capable of.”

“Could it hatch our eggs?” Kevan asked in a hopeful tone.

Taeron shook his head. “I doubt it. Thanatos himself said that we wouldn’t hatch the eggs until after the progress was over and made it pretty clear that we do need to go to Valyria to discover the secret. The wand was Antioch’s boon, who’d asked for an unbeatable wand, although it changed hands many times over the years.”

“Clearly it’s not completely unbeatable if it changed hands so many times over the years.”

“Well, I suppose it depends on the wielder,” Taeron said. “Grindelwald became rather arrogant in his later years, began to believe his own propaganda. So he got careless. And some of its owners were just plain stupid. Like Antioch himself, who immediately after getting it went to a pub and started loudly bragging about his new unbeatable wand and then proceeded to get totally pissed. Once he passed out drunk, one of the other patrons slit his throat and stole the wand.”

“Stupid indeed.”

“Yes. There are many times through the centuries where the wand has seemingly vanished. I imagine those times can be attributed to people who were smart enough not to advertise that they had it to all and sundry.”

“Makes sense, so what about the other Hallows?”

Placing the wand back in his trunk, Harry picked up the Resurrection Stone. Holding it up, he said, “The Resurrection Stone, which can call the shades of the dead out of the afterlife. Not permanently mind you, and they do tend to resent being summoned out of their afterlives.”

Kevan nodded, but then jumped slightly, when he said, “Um, Tae, that scroll you were holding just flashed with golden light.”

Cocking his head to one side, Taeron slid the stone, which was still set into the golden ring band that the Gaunts had placed it in, onto his finger, knowing that the Horcrux that had been in it was destroyed and all of Voldemort’s curses removed.

Picking up the scroll, he saw that Thanatos had added a couple of lines to the note.

> **_Forgot to mention this to you when we were face to face. While being the Master of Death doesn’t make you my master, it does grant you a certain amount of authority over those that have already passed. So, the Master of Death can summon shades from their afterlife without the normal resentment. You’re also not limited to only your loved ones and can additionally summon any of your blood relations._ **
> 
> **_Of course, that’s limited to your current lifetime only, so you can’t summon Harry Potter’s blood relations because as Taeron Targaryen you’re no longer related by blood to any of them. The Fates will also block any of Harry’s loved ones from leaving the Underworld, so you can’t use the Stone to figure out who they sent to Westeros._ **
> 
> **_And no, as I can guess what you’ll think upon reading this, no you cannot summon a member of House Targaryen who lived while dragons were alive to get dragon lore from them. They wouldn’t have the knowledge you need anyway, as it was strictly regulated by the Fourteen Foremost Ancient Dragonlord Families of Valyria._ **
> 
> **_Tap the Elder Wand on the Stone three times and say “The Master of Death summons…” followed by the name of the shade or shades you wish to summon._ **
> 
> **_You’ll have about an hour before they have to return to the Underworld and you can’t issue a summons more than once per day. Though it might be better to wait longer than that, say a four or five moon turns, between summonings to avoid angering Hades. He doesn’t have a Westerosi or Essosi equivalent, but it would still be in your best interests not to annoy him._ **
> 
> **_\--T_ **

“Well, that’s interesting,” Taeron said, as he finished reading and then handed the scroll over to Kevan to read.

It took Kevan a moment, as he read both the original message and the addendum.

“What’s he mean by tossing a coin?”

“The old saying about the Targaryen madness.”

“Oh, okay,” Kevan said, knowing exactly what Taeron was referring to. “I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of these Fourteen Foremost Ancient Dragonlord Families. Of course, much was lost in the Doom and even in the intervening years. Such as King Baelor burning anything that even remotely discussed magic, even in the Targaryen archives at Dragonstone.”

Taeron nodded. “Well, the final Hallow is this,” as he reached over and pulled it out of the trunk with a grin.

Kevan’s eyes widened. “Your invisibility cloak?”

“Yup,” Harry answered. “Ignotus Peverell’s granddaughter, Iolanthe, married my several-times-great-grandfather Hardwin Potter and thus the cloak became a Potter family heirloom handed down through the generations. And no, I didn’t know that it was one of the Hallows until sixth-year, as that knowledge was lost. It does explain a few things, however.”

Nodding Kevan said, “Yes, such as why it never stopped working like most invisibility cloaks do after a while.”

“Yes,” Taeron said. “Well, as much as I enjoy looking at your naked body, I think if we want to know more about these Fourteen Foremost Ancient Families, we’re going to have to summon one of our ancestors from before Baelor who can hopefully answer that question. And shade or not, I’d prefer they not see us naked.”

Kevan nodded fervently as they both stood up and began to get dressed.

-o-0-o-

After a quick casting of the Tempus Charm to ensure that they actually had an hour to spare before it would be time to break camp and continue on their way to Castle Wyl, Taeron and Kevan, now dressed in their finest, stood side-by-side.

Having switched the Stone onto his left hand, Taeron grasped the Elder Wand in his right hand, before he tapped the Stone three times and said, “The Master of Death summons King Aegon I Targaryen!”

Kevan’s eyes widened a bit at that, as Taeron hadn’t told him who he was going to summon and he definitely wasn’t expecting it to be the Conqueror himself, although it made sense in a way, as he was definitely before King Baelor and thus had a greater chance of knowing things that had been lost in both the Doom and Baelor’s purges.

Before he could comment, however, a black mist appeared on the ground which swiftly coalesced into the form of a tall and muscular man with shoulder-length white-blond hair and purple eyes. He was wearing black and silver armor decorated with red dragons and a long black and red cape. He also had Blackfyre sheathed on one hip and the ruby-studded Valyrian Steel crown on his head which had been lost somewhere in Dorne upon the death of King Daeron I.

Within seconds of fully coalescing, Aegon knelt before Taeron and said, “How may I serve the Master of Death?”

“You don’t need to kneel to me,” Taeron said. “We are family, after all, no matter how distant and you're a king, while I’m only a prince.”

“You are still the Master of Death, however, and I am dead,” Aegon said before he stood up and looked closely at Taeron and Kevan. “Who are you and how many years has it been since I died?”

“My name is Taeron Targaryen, the firstborn son of Jaeherys, and grandson of the current Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King Aegon V Targaryen. It’s been 218 years since your death.”

Motioning towards Kevan, Taeron added, “And this is Ser Kevan Baratheon, son of the current Lord of Storm’s End, Ormund Baratheon, and his wife—my father’s sister—the Princess Rhaelle.”

Aegon nodded before Taeron motioned to a nearby chair as he and Kevan sat down on the edge of their cot. Once they were all seated, Aegon asked, “Where are we?”

“We’re currently encamped about a sennight from Castle Wyl in Dorne,” Taeron said. “I’m working my way around to all of the Seven Kingdoms on a royal progress, visiting with some of the lords of the various kingdoms, but primarily the Lords Paramount.”

“Please tell me that the Dornish have finally bent the knee,” Aegon said.

“You don’t know?” Kevan asked.

“No, I don’t,” Aegon answered. “I watched the goings-on here in Westeros for a few years after my death, but after a while, I just couldn’t bear to watch how both of my sons were screwing things up. First, there was Aenys who wouldn’t know a decision if it came up and bit him in the arse, and then there was Maegor, who was a tyrannical madman. Even his mother Visenya came to regard him as an idiot after she died.”

“Yes, Dorne finally did bend the knee,” Taeron said. “It took several wars, but it did finally happen. The last war ended in 161 AC with the betrothal of the then Prince Daeron to the Prince of Dorne’s daughter, Myriah Nymeros-Martell. Once they were both of age, they wed in 167 and twenty years later, Myriah’s brother Maron, now Prince of Dorne, wed Daeron’s younger sister Daenerys, after which he bent the knee.”

“Well, better late than never I suppose,” Aegon said.

“Indeed,” Taeron said. “So, the reason I summoned you. My three-times-great-granduncle, King Baelor I, was a very pious man who was both a Septon and the King. He was rather zealous in his purging of anything that even so much as mentioned magic or sorcery, even in the Targaryen archives on Dragonstone.”

Aegon groaned and shook his head. Taeron and Kevan were pretty sure he muttered the word “fool.”

“The Stranger appeared to me in a dream last night,” Taeron revealed. “And gave me this note this morning,” as he held up the scroll. “In it, he mentions the Fourteen Foremost Ancient Dragonlord Houses of Valyria, however, I’ve never heard of them.”

“I’m not surprised,” Aegon said, as he looked up. “If Baelor burned anything in the Dragonstone archives that mentioned magic or sorcery, then all mention of the Fourteen would have been destroyed.”

Aegon paused for a moment, perhaps to gather his thoughts, before he said, “The Fourteen were the oldest and most powerful of the dragonlord families of Valyria: Houses Argaris, Arlaeris, Baelanyon, Baelerys, Calneron, Celtalos, Dalaellis, Laentaris, Qarnaris, Raelnalys, Raeltaris, Taennaris, Vaeltigar, and Veltheon. Each of the Fourteen Houses had a home built near the peaks of one of the Flames, close to the lairs of the original dragons.

“Of course, once the City of Valyria was built, they all spent most of the year living in their palaces within the city itself, as they were far grander than the homes on the peaks. They were also much easier to get to, as the originals had no roads up to them, so the only way you could get to them was on dragon back.”

“House Targaryen wasn’t one of the Fourteen?” Kevan asked.

Shaking his head, Aegon said, “No, they were not. We were what the Fourteen would have called one of the Lesser Dragonlord families. We weren’t as rich, as powerful—either politically and magically—and we had fewer dragons than they did.

“Before the Doom, we were limited by law to having only five dragons at any one time, although we could petition for the right to hatch new eggs if at least three of our dragons were determined to be reaching the end of their lifespans. The Fourteen, in comparison, were allowed to have as many as they wanted. House Baelerys, for example, controlled fifty-seven dragons when House Targaryen moved to Dragonstone.”

“Interesting,” Taeron said. “Anything else that set the Fourteen apart from the other dragonlords.”

With a nod, Aegon said, “Yes, from what I was always taught growing up, the Fourteen, being stronger in magic, didn’t need to use dragon horns to control their dragons. They had apparently used powerful spells which granted them the ability to speak in the dragon tongue.

“I never met any of the Fourteen, as they all died in the Doom, so I never saw this ability with my own eyes. Even after the Doom with the Fourteen dead, their power and influence were still felt by the lesser dragonlord families.”

“What do you mean?” Kevan asked.

“The Freehold was ruled by two score noble families, all of them dragonlords,” Aegon answered. “But, out of those forty, the Fourteen had by far the most power in the Freehold. As I said, House Targaryen was limited by law to having only five dragons at any one time. All of the lesser houses had the same restriction, so even though there were twenty-six of us, the Fourteen still had more than triple the number of dragons.”

Taeron and Kevan nodded in understanding, as Aegon asked, “You’ve heard of Aurion Barralis, the dragonlord from Qohor, who after the Doom declared himself Emperor of Valyria?”

“I’d never heard his house name before, but I have heard of him,” Taeron replied, as Kevan nodded. “He raised an army of thirty thousand men and flew off towards Valyria on his dragon and was never seen again.”

“Yes, well that was the Fourteen’s work,” Aegon said. “In addition to controlling more than triple the number of dragons of the lesser houses, they also had powerful spells in place which made sure that none of the lesser houses could try to usurp them as the undisputed leaders of the Freehold. So when Aurion declared himself Emperor, a title which would have placed him above the Fourteen, those spells activated and Aurion, his dragon, and his troops paid the price for his ambitions.”

Shaking his head, Aegon added, “Aurion did send an envoy to Aenar Targaryen and asked him to lend his dragons and whatever forces he could muster to the cause of reclaiming the Freehold. Aenar refused, however, as while the Fourteen Flames had stopped erupting by then, the skies above Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer were still choked in volcanic ash and the lava flows still hadn’t cooled and turned to dragonglass.

“In short, going there would have been suicide and Aenar hadn’t sold everything in the Freehold and moved to Dragonstone to avoid the Doom, just so that he could die less than half a year later. So he sent Aurion’s envoy back empty-handed and with no promises of support. A couple of months later, Aurion decided to go it alone, declared himself Emperor, and fell victim to the Fourteen’s spells.”

“Wow,” Taeron said. “I’ve never heard any of this, so it seems that the archives on Dragonstone must have suffered greatly in Baelor’s purges. Of course, even though my father is the Prince of Dragonstone, it’s been years since we last set foot on the island, as my mother prefers the Red Keep, plus we’re only a few turns into spring following a four-year winter.”

Kevan nodded, before he asked, “Do you know what would happen if one of the lesser houses hatched more dragon eggs and had more than five dragons at once without the Fourteen’s permission?”

Aegon looked grave, as he said, “Spells would have activated which would eventually prevent any new eggs from being hatched and any existing dragons would also grow weaker over time. My damn fool son Maegor’s Dragonpit only served to hasten that growing weakness.”

Shaking his head, Aegon said, “Dragons were not meant to grow up locked away inside of a building. They need to be able to fly and breathe in the kind of crisp and fresh air that’s only available at altitudes far higher than the Hill of Rhaenys.”

Taeron shared a look with Kevan, before he said, “Well, that settles it. Next time I see my grandfather, I will strongly advise him to never rebuild the Dragonpit. He’s never expressed any interest in doing so, but better to be safe than sorry.”

“True,” Kevan said. “Of course, there’s not much point in rebuilding it anyway, considering that the last of the dragons died over a hundred years ago.”

Aegon’s shade looked a combination of both sad and furious at this news but didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he said, “My time on this plane is growing short. Is there anything else you’d like to know before I must return to the Underworld?”

“Do you happen to know why nobody ever thought to build Valyrian roads here in Westeros?” Kevan asked.

“I very much wanted to,” Aegon said. “They would have been good for not only the faster movement of troops but also the transport of merchants and their goods, which would have greatly helped the economy of the kingdoms.”

Taeron and Kevan nodded, as Aegon said, “However, it wasn’t within our ability to do so. The Valyrian roads in Essos are made of stone blocks that were spell-shaped in dragonfire, but the spells that need to be cast during that process were a secret known only to the Fourteen.

“They kept that secret in order to limit the number of Valyrian roads so that the lesser houses couldn’t use their dragons to add more in a bid to increase their wealth to a point where they could challenge the Fourteen, even if it was only financially.”

“Hmm, makes sense,” Taeron said. “All the more reason than to visit the ruins of Valyria after the progress is over. As if the Stranger telling me that I’d have to visit Valyria to find out how to hatch my dragon egg wasn’t reason enough.”

Aegon nodded. “Yes, according to what I was taught, the Fourteen had some sort of contingency plan in place should one or more of their lines die out. But, what that plan was, I don’t know, as that’s not something that the Fourteen shared with others outside of themselves. So, I assume there are also some means of removing their spells which prevent the hatching of any new eggs, but if there are, they’d be in Valyria.”

Taeron nodded, as he pointed the Elder Wand at a small table in the corner and summoned a bottle of wine and two glasses. He’d summon three, but being a shade, Aegon wasn’t in a position to be able to drink anything.

“Well, hopefully, the fact that both Kevan and I have magic,” Taeron said with a smile, “will aid us in not only safely venturing the Valyria but also removing the spells the Fourteen cast.”

“That wand is supposed to be the most powerful wand ever made,” Kevan said, as he took the two glasses from Taeron so that he could open the bottle. “Capable of feats of magic that would be impossible by other wands. I wonder if you could use it to remove the spells the Fourteen cast?”

“Maybe, but I’m not going to try,” Taeron said, as he poured wine into the two glasses. “I have no idea what kind of spells they used or what kind of failsafes they might have built into those spells. So I’m not going to risk trying to dispel ancient magic that’s existed for centuries longer than House Targaryen has ruled Westeros until I know more.”

“Very wise of you, Taeron,” Aegon said before he nodded at them both and said, “And my time here is up. It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.”

Taeron and Kevan nodded and said their goodbyes, before Aegon’s shade disappeared.

After a few minutes of silence, during which both boys quietly sipped their wine, Kevan asked, “Did that really just happen?”

Taeron grinned. “Did we just have an hour-long conversation with Aegon the Conqueror?” Kevan nodded, prompting Taeron to grin and say, “Yes, that really did just happen.”

“Wow,” Kevan said with a shake of his head. “I suppose we shouldn’t try to tell Uncles Daeron and Jeremy.”

“Definitely not,” Taeron agreed. “Even though they know we’ve got magic, they’d never believe us and would probably think we’d fallen victim to the Targaryen madness.”

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have Ch10 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven.’ With ten chapters posted now, I’m likely going to take a bit of a break from this universe to write a few chapters for some of my other stories, but I’m sure I’ll get back to this universe, as I am enjoying writing it.
> 
> Just a reminder, the poll on my group to gauge the interest for 25 different canon HP characters to be reborn in Westeros is still running through 21 August 2020. So, if you’d like to vote and haven’t yet, please do so before then. Also, just to clear up any potential confusion, none of the 25 characters on the list are among the seven other canon HP characters that along with Cedric will make up Taeron/Harry’s harem.
> 
> None of them are guaranteed to appear, but if several people show an interest in them appearing by voting for them, then I can certainly see about incorporating them into the story.
> 
> https://groups.io/g/storiesbyjayson/topic/poll_prophecy_of_the_seven/75961744
> 
> Anyway, until next time, stay safe everyone.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory


	11. At Castle Wyl

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Eleven:  
At Castle Wyl

-o-0-o-

A sennight after their early morning meeting with the shade of Aegon the Conqueror, Taeron and Kevan were happy when the turrets of Castle Wyl appeared in the distance. While magical healing and the liniment helped with their saddle soreness, they were really looking forward to two-and-a-half days of no riding.

Riding into the courtyard of Castle Wyl, the seat of the Dornish House Wyl, on the morning of the first day of the first turn of 256 AC, the royal party was greeted by the Lord and Lady of Castle Wyl.

“Welcome to Castle Wyl, my princes,” Lord Wyl said as he bowed to Taeron and Daeron. “We are honored to host you.”

“Thank you, Lord Wyl,” Taeron said, as he looked around and asked, “The guards from Sunspear aren’t here yet?”

“A raven arrived this morning, my prince,” Lady Wyl answered. “They were delayed, but are making all haste and will be here before you leave for Castle Yronwood.”

Taeron nodded, as he followed the Wyls inside. As they walked, Daeron had a quick conversation with the captain of the Stormlands host, giving him leave to rest and water their horses, before heading back to the Stormlands.

While it was true that the Dornish guards hadn’t arrived yet, they did have the Crownlands guards and they were safe behind the walls of Castle Wyl. Between the Crownlands host, plus Lord Wyl’s household knights, and the castle garrison—not to mention Taeron and Kevan’s magic if it became necessary—Daeron was confident that they’d be safe until the guards from Sunspear arrived.

-o-0-o-

The day before the royal party was due to leave Castle Wyl, as Daeron, Jeremy, Taeron, and Kevan were all on their way down to have lunch with the Wyl family, one of the lookouts on the wall called out, “Banners approaching.”

It took a few more minutes before the approaching party got close enough for word to come down from the wall that it was indeed the guards from Sunspear, the banner of House Nymeros-Martell flying front and center.

Lord and Lady Wyl, their three sons and daughter, and several members of their household quickly made their way out to the courtyard to join the royal party in greeting the party sent by the Princess of Dorne.

Leading the party was a teenage boy that Taeron was sure was the same age as him. He had curly black hair, tanned olive skin, and was riding a very distinctive looking horse. It was one of the Dornish sand steeds if Taeron wasn’t mistaken. Its coat was as black as coal, while its tail and mane were a fiery red.

As the party came to a stop, the man on the lead horse got down and bowed to Daeron and Taeron, as he said, “Prince Dorian Nymeros-Martell, at your service.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet Lewyn’s little brother,” Taeron said with a grin to the nearby Kingsguard. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dorian straightened up at this and raised an eyebrow as he looked at Lewyn. “All good, I hope?”

Lewyn laughed. “Oh just the embarrassing bits, little brother.”

Dorian shook his head, a grin on his face, “Really? Well, then I guess I’ll have to return the favor and tell them about that time when...”

“Finish that sentence and you will regret it,” Lewyn quickly said, making everyone laugh.

-o-0-o-

Later that evening, after the feast welcoming Dorian to Castle Wyl, Taeron and Kevan retreated to their room. Before leaving the Great Hall, they asked Dorian to join them for a chat, as Taeron and Kevan had a sneaking suspicion that Dorian might be from the old world.

Fifteen minutes later, Dorian had joined them and while he had his back turned to the door, Kevan silently cast a locking charm on it and erected silencing charms.

As Kevan sat down, Dorian looked at the pair and asked, “So, what did you want to see me about?”

Taeron and Kevan smiled at each other before they turned to look at Dorian and Taeron said, “Bonjour Dorian.”

“Parlez-vous français?” Kevan asked.

Dorian’s eyes widened a fraction before he nodded. “Oui.” He then switched back to the Common Tongue and asked, “Who are you?”

Kevan was tempted to answer Kevan Baratheon, but he was impatient to find out who Dorian was, so he answered, “My name is Cedric… Cedric Diggory.”

Taeron smiled and said, “And I’m Hadrian Potter.”

“Harry,” Dorian said with a smile. “And Cedric. You both look so different.”

“Yes, I suppose we do,” Taeron agreed. “We can’t know if you do or not, however, since we don’t know who you are.”

Dorian smirked. “Blaise Zabini.”

Taeron nodded, noting that Dorian definitely did look different in this life compared to his old one. As Blaise, he’d been black, but as Dorian, he had the lighter, olive skin tone that was common among the Salty Dornish.

Kevan rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s another one of your lovers, Tae. I’m sure the Fates are getting a kick out of that.”

“Of course they are,” Taeron said, as he looked skyward and said, “Because I’m the Fates’ Bitch!”

He could almost hear Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos laughing at that.

“So, Dorian and I make two,” Kevan said. “I wonder if they sent any more of them?”

Dorian grinned and from the look on his face, Taeron asked, “You know something don’t you?”

“Whatever makes you think that?”

“The look on your face,” Taeron said. “It was a quick, blink and you’ll miss it look, but I was almost sorted into Slytherin and I was Lord Slytherin so don’t think that you’re fooling anybody, Dorian.”

“I do know of a few more people from our old world,” Dorian admitted. “Several of them, in fact.”

“How many is several?” Kevan asked.

“Ten.”

“Ten?” Taeron asked, surprised. “Who?”

“You know about my bastard brothers?” Dorian asked in response. At Taeron’s and Kevan’s nods, he added, “Well, all four of them are from the old world. Jaekar and Jaeron were Fred and George Weasley. Arran was Oliver Wood and Errac was Regulus Black.”

Kevan and Taeron were silent for a moment before Kevan grinned and said, “Well, that’s three more people you slept with Tae… as I assume you didn’t sleep with Regulus.”

“Uh, yeah considering that he died the year before Harry was born,” Taeron said, as he playfully slapped Kevan upside the head.

As Kevan stuck out his tongue and rubbed his head, Taeron rolled his eyes and asked, “Who else?”

“Tylar and Kylar Allyrion,” Dorian answered. “They’re Lady Delonne Allyrion’s younger brothers… and you didn’t hear this from me, but Kylar is my brother’s paramour.”

“Lewyn has a paramour?” Kevan asked as Dorian nodded. “Well, I guess as long as he doesn’t sire children, it's not against his vows.”

“Considering that neither of them has the secondary reproductive system and Lewyn has no magic,” Dorian said, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Taeron nodded. “True. So who are they?”

“Gideon and Fabian Prewett.”

“Molly Weasley’s brothers,” Taeron said. “Interesting. So that’s two more, who are the other four?”

“Tylar’s wife Wynolla and their daughter Vaerissa,” Dorian answered. “They were Pandora and Luna Lovegood in the old world.”

Taeron smiled. “Luna, well, she was always a good friend. I assume Pandora must be her mother who died when she was nine.”

“Yeah, that’s my understanding,” Dorian agreed. “Anyway, Wynolla is the daughter of Daario Brenos, the current First Sword of the Sealord of Braavos. Like her father, she’s a trained bravo and water dancer. Works as a bodyguard for Ryevan Celtaris.”

“Celtaris?” Kevan asked. “As in the Celtaris Bank in Lys?”

Nodding, Dorian said, “The very same. Ryevan was Ernie Macmillan.”

“And that’s another of my more long-term lovers,” Taeron said with a shake of his head. “Fred, George, and Oliver were one-night stands, but Ernie and Blaise were not.”

With a smirk, Dorian said, “Indeed we weren’t. We had sex two or three times a month for six months. Definitely not a one-night stand.”

“And the last?” Kevan asked.

“Ryevan’s first cousin,” Dorian replied. “Ethan Tyrell. Their mothers are sisters in this life. Ethan is Theo Nott.”

Taeron was shaking his head and muttering Fates’ Bitch under his breath, as Kevan grinned and said, “Well, I guess when we get to the Reach I’ll be able to thank Theo in person.”

“Thank him for what?” Dorian asked.

“He taught Harry a sex position,” Kevan said. “That allowed two people to fuck and be fucked at the same time. Tae taught me and I enjoyed it so much that I’d really like to thank Theo.”

“That is a very nice position,” Dorian agreed. “Hard to get right, but once you do, it feels amazing.”

“Done it yourself then?” Taeron asked.

Nodding, Dorian said, “Yes, Taeron.” Before he grinned, winked, and asked, “Who do you think taught it to Theo?”

The three boys chatted for another half-hour or so catching each other up on their lives in Westeros. Dorian revealed that just like Taeron and Kevan, his magic also bloomed at age ten, probably right around the same time that Taeron’s did. Unlike Taeron’s magic which seemed to favor fire and Kevan’s magic that seemed to favor lightning, Dorian’s magic favored water.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Dorian said. “There’s a lot of old tales about water mages among the Rhoynar.”

Taeron and Kevan nodded, before Kevan said, “So, Dorian, tell me if I’m being too forward, but would you fancy a threesome with Taeron and me?”

Dorian grinned. “Perhaps a bit, yes, but I don’t mind. And I definitely wouldn’t say no to one.”

“Cool,” Kevan said. “I was kind of hoping that Tae’s lovers would be willing to engage in an orgy, as I’d really like to experience the fivesome that Tae had in the old world, even if it’s not with the same people.”

“Fivesome?” Dorian asked as he looked at Taeron with slightly widened eyes.

Kevan grinned. “Apparently alcohol was involved, but Harry managed to have a one-night stand fivesome with the McKinnon quadruplets.”

“I thought two of them are straight?” Dorian asked, clearly surprised.

“No, actually only Brett is straight,” Taeron said. “Blake is gay, and Blaine and Blaise are bi. Blaine and Blaise both generally prefer women, but Blaine did end up finding a man he liked enough to marry. So, considering that two of them married women, I can see why you’d think two of them were straight, even if that isn’t actually the case.”

Dorian nodded, before he said, “Well since Kevan has already been so kind as to ward the door and the room, shall we slip into something more comfortable?”

Taeron grinned. “I suppose by more comfortable you mean nothing?”

“Well, yeah, but I figured that was too obvious and didn’t need to be mentioned.”

Taeron, Kevan, and Dorian laughed before they did just that. It wasn’t long before the three of them were in a tangle of limbs on the bed.

-o-0-o-

Several hours later, after the three young men had sex, fell asleep, had sex again, and then fell asleep again, Taeron got out of bed and got dressed. He noticed as he did so that only Kevan was still in the bed and he briefly wondered if perhaps Dorian had woken up and left.

This question was answered, however, when Dorian emerged from the ensuite privy.

“Morning,” Taeron said, as he knelt down and opened his trunk to the secret compartment holding his dragon egg and the hallows.

Since they were magical items that he didn’t want falling into the wrong hands, even if they would come back to him as Master of Death, he opted to keep the hallows with the egg. Figured a little extra security couldn’t hurt anything.

He didn’t mind opening the trunk to that compartment in front of Dorian because he wouldn’t be able to see the dragon egg due to the Fidelius. Pulling out the cloak, Taeron closed the trunk and said, “I’ll be back momentarily.”

Before Dorian could say anything, Taeron disappeared under the cloak and a second later, there was a soft popping noise.

Dorian had just put on his smallclothes and was pulling up his breeches when there was a soft pop and Taeron said, “Ah good, you’re dressed,” before he grabbed Dorian’s arm and Apparated away, taking Dorian with him.

Dorian had not been expecting a Side-Along Apparition so as they reached their destination, the very first thing that Dorian noticed was that he was standing there in only his smallclothes with his breeches pooled at his feet, as he hadn’t fastened them yet before Taeron had Side-Along Apparated him.

Bending down and grabbing his breeches, Dorian fastened them before he glared at Taeron and said, “Merlin, Taeron, I know you’re a prince but could you give a person a little warning next time?”

Taeron just laughed. “It gave me a few extra seconds of seeing more skin before you covered it up… so, not apologizing.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, before he asked, “Where are we?”

“The Targaryen Egg Vault. Under Summerhall.”

“Why are we here?”

“Uncle Daeron brought Kevan and I here when the progress stayed here,” Taeron explained, before he gently grabbed Dorian’s chin, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, “The gold-flecked, black whorled red dragon egg once belonging to Lord Ambrose Butterwell can be found among the possessions of Taeron Targaryen.”

Dorian could feel the magic washing over him as Taeron spoke. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “The Fidelius Charm?”

Taeron nodded. “I felt drawn to the egg I just mentioned. Almost as if it was calling out to me. Uncle Daeron allowed me to take it out of the vault, although I replaced it with a transfigured rock,” as he gestured to a dragon egg which matched the description that Taeron had just given.

“And Kevan? Did he feel drawn to an egg?”

“Yes,” Taeron answered because the fact that he’d felt drawn to an egg was not part of the protected information. Only the fact that the egg was among Kevan’s possessions, rather than in the vault.

Dorian nodded. “I assume then he’s the Secret Keeper for his egg, as you are for yours.”

“Since you have a Targaryen mother and have magic, I thought I’d bring you here and see if like Kevan and I, you felt drawn to any of the eggs. For us it was as if they were calling out to us, almost telepathically asking us to hatch them.”

“Okay,” Dorian said, as he moved about the room, looking at the various eggs.

He’d done almost one full circuit of the room when he suddenly stopped and moved closer to one of the carved niches in the wall. Taeron watched with a grin as Dorian reached out and touched a beautiful purple dragon egg with golden swirls.

“I… think this one is calling to me,” Dorian said after a moment, as he looked at the stand it was resting upon and noticed the engraving. “It says this egg was once the property of King Aegon II Targaryen.”

With a smile, Taeron said, “Well, it's yours now. I suppose Uncle Daeron wouldn’t like me bringing you down here and letting you take an egg, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Dorian grinned before he nodded and took the egg from its stand, even as Taeron came over, looked at the egg again, and then transfigured a small piece of rock into a perfect copy of the egg, which he placed on the now-empty stand.

Holding out his arm, Taeron asked, “Ready to head back?”

Dorian nodded, as he held the egg close to his body with one arm while taking Taeron’s offered arm with the other. A second later, they both disappeared from the room with a small pop.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s Ch11 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven.’ It’s a bit short, but better short than nothing at all. I haven’t posted anything for a month as I’ve just been hopping back and forth between working on new chapters for four of my stories (this one, The Seventh Olympian, The Battle is Joined, and Brotherly Love), also working on my notes, updating my wiki, and just doing some relaxing.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and that you’re all staying safe in this crazy time that the world finds itself in.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory  
> Dorian Nymeros-Martell = Blaise Zabini  
> Ethan Tyrell = Theodore Nott  
> Ryevan Celtaris = Ernie Macmillan  
> Jaekar Sand = Fred Weasley  
> Jaeron Sand = George Weasley  
> Arran Sand = Oliver Wood  
> Errac Sand = Regulus Black  
> Kylar Allyrion = Fabian Prewett  
> Tylar Allyrion = Gideon Prewett  
> Wynolla Brenos-Allyrion = Pandora Lovegood  
> Vaerissa Brenos-Allyrion = Luna Lovegood


	12. The Deserts of Dorne

The Prophecy of the Seven  
By J.C. Vascardi

-o-0-o-

Chapter Twelve:  
The Deserts of Dorne

-o-0-o-

**_Castle Wyl, Dorne, Fourth Day of the First Turn, 256 AC…_ **

Arriving back in Taeron’s and Kevan’s room at Castle Wyl, they found Kevan sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on his boots. Kevan grinned when he saw what Dorian was carrying.

“I’d wondered where you two disappeared to,” Kevan said. “You got an egg too, huh, Ian?”

Dorian nodded as he looked happily at his egg for a moment, before he looked at Kevan, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Ian?”

Kevan shrugged. “I call Taeron Tae and he calls me Kev, so I figured you needed a nickname too. And I thought Ian was better than Dor.”

Dorian nodded and said, “Yeah, if I had to choose, I think I would definitely prefer Ian over Dor.”

Taeron smiled. “You should probably get the Fidelius cast for your egg Ian, and then finish getting dressed. We’ll be expected at breakfast soon.”

Dorian nodded, as he cast the charm to hide his egg, Taeron, and Kevan grinning as they literally watched the egg disappear right before their eyes, only to reappear seconds later after Dorian whispered the secret in their respective ears.

“Here, you can borrow my cloak,” Taeron said, as he held out the silvery fabric to Dorian. “So you can get your egg down to your room and into your trunk.”

“Thanks,” Dorian said, knowing that while the Fidelius would hide the egg from view, it would not prevent anyone from seeing the positioning of his hands and arms which suggested that he was carrying something… something that they wouldn’t be able to see.

With Taeron’s cloak, however, Dorian could easily get down to his room without anybody seeing him and get his egg stored away in a hidden compartment inside his chest. Thankfully, Dorian knew the spell necessary to make such a compartment.

-o-0-o-

After eating breakfast with the Wyl family, Taeron, Kevan, Dorian, and the rest of the royal progress made their way out to the courtyard of the castle and mounted up, for it was time to leave Castle Wyl and continue on their way south towards the next stop on their journey.

Settling into his saddle, Kevan said, “So, next stop, Castle Yronwood.”

“Yes,” Taeron said. “Riding for nearly three weeks. Oh, joy.”

While he was greatly enjoying seeing more of the kingdoms that he was one day expected to rule, he was not enjoying spending so much time on a horse. He was definitely looking forward to hatching his dragon egg and the dragon getting big enough to be ridden.

After his grandfather had granted his request for his progress as soon as spring arrived, he’d spent his time reading up on past royal progresses. Through this reading, he knew that back when dragons were still around and large enough to ride, that royal progresses took far less time than it did now.

Dragons could cover far larger distances than a horse could in a day, as they could fly far faster and for a longer period without tiring. They also had the advantage of being able to fly over obstacles like mountains, lakes, or rivers. So one didn’t need to waste time taking a potentially long overland route around the mountain, waiting for a ferry across a lake, or looking for a place to ford a river if no bridge was available.

Of course, one also didn’t need to take all the guards that Taeron was forced to take with him, as a dragon large enough for a rider was an effective guard all by itself. It’s not like bandits could attack a dragonlord in the skies and any bandit stupid enough to attack one on land would quickly realize their mistake… a few seconds before they were burnt to a pile of smoking ash.

Leaning close to Kevan and Taeron, Dorian smiled and said, “Well, at least we’ve got the benefit of magic and can make the ride a bit more comfortable.”

Nodding, Kevan said, “True, I’d hate to imagine how rough it must be on all the men. Even if you’re used to riding, doing it for several hours a day, every day and over vastly differing terrain is not easy.”

“All the more reason to see about bringing the Valyrian roads to Westeros once our dragons are hatched,” Taeron whispered to his two lovers with a grin, as they grinned and nodded.

Seeing that everyone was mounted up and ready to go, Taeron nodded at the Wyls and said, aloud, “Thank you again for your hospitality, Lord and Lady Wyl.”

“The pleasure was ours, my prince,” Lord Wyl said with a bow, as his wife curtsied next to him.

Taeron nodded at the two nobles before he raised his fist and then brought it down in a swift motion, as he called out, “Ride!”

-o-0-o-

**_The Boneway, Dorne, Seventeenth Day of the First Turn, 256 AC…_ **

The royal progress was currently resting on a bluff very near to the Boneway, approximately seventy miles north of Castle Yronwood. Since leaving Castle Wyl, they’d traveled about 185 miles and would be arriving at the seat of the Dornish House Yronwood in less than a sennight.

Over roughly the last fortnight, Taeron, Kevan, and Dorian grew much closer, as they continued to have sex and spend almost all of their waking and non-waking time together. For the time being, Taeron wasn’t thinking too much about the future beyond the progress and the eventual trip to Valyria that Thanatos had said would be necessary to hatch the dragon eggs.

So he hadn’t really given much thought to the fact that it seemed he now had two boyfriends. Or the persistent feeling that he’d be getting more of them as the progress continued. He knew, of course, that the Faith of the Seven didn’t have a positive view on the idea of anyone having more than one spouse at a time, but Taeron wasn’t all that worried.

As long as he and any future husbands didn’t try to get married until after the dragons were hatched, they’d have at least three dragons. Assuming, of course, that any future possible husbands beyond Kevan and Dorian didn’t also feel drawn to a dragon egg. He dared any septon or septa to stand in his way of taking however many spouses he wanted with at least three and possibly more dragons at his back.

As a prince, he did technically have to get permission from his grandfather to get married, but he highly doubted that he’d be denied the right to marry whoever he wanted, even if it was multiple people if he and his spouses were the ones to restore dragons to Westeros… a part of House Targaryen’s legacy that had been missing for far too long.

“Ah, oh, ah, oh, ah… yes, Kev, fuck me,” Taeron moaned, from his place sandwiched between Kevan and Dorian.

The Dornish prince grinned as he said, “Yes, Kev, fuck him harder,” since he knew that any increase in Kevan’s thrusts would in turn also increase Taeron’s thrusts into him, which was a good thing in his mind.

Tilting his head to one side, Dorian moaned as Taeron sped up his thrusts into him, in reaction to Kevan speeding his own thrusts. Taeron would likely be moaning as well, but he was busy kissing and sucking on Dorian’s neck at the moment, which is why Dorian had tilted his head, to give the blond-haired prince better access.

Dorian’s own moans were soon silenced, as Kevan leaned forward and down over Taeron’s shoulder and pulled the Dornish prince into a searing kiss.

Raising his arms, Dorian clasped his hands behind Kevan’s back, pulling him closer, which had the effect of pulling Taeron closer to him, since he was sandwiched between the other two boys. Taeron wasn’t about to complain, however, as, in both this life and his old one, he’d always enjoyed being in the middle. Enjoying the best of both worlds as he thrust his cock into a lover in rhythm to another lover doing the same to him.

The only thing that could make this experience better in Taeron’s mind is if he had a cock in his mouth. Or if there was a second cock in his arse or joining his own in Dorian’s. All three at the same time would be even better, of course.

 ** _‘Soon,’_** Taeron thought as he continued kissing and sucking on Dorian’s neck.

He didn’t expect to be hooking back up with Fred and George in this life since Jaekar and Jaeron—according to Dorian—only had eyes for each other and their boyfriends in this life. Since all four of them were Dorian’s bastard half-brothers who he’d known all his life, Taeron was confident that Dorian knew what he was talking about when it came to them.

Dorian wasn’t quite as well-versed in terms of Ethan and Ryevan, as he didn’t see them frequently enough to be a hundred percent sure, but as far as he knew, neither of them was dating anyone in this life. So, Taeron certainly wasn’t about to say no to a reunion with Theo and Ernie.

Kevan was rather eager to experience the fivesome that Taeron had experienced as Harry, after all, even it wasn’t with a set of identical quadruplets. Dorian had also expressed an interest. So, who was Taeron to deny them? Especially when he wanted it just as much as they did.

-o-0-o-

**_Castle Yronwood, Dorne, Twenty-Third Day of the First Turn, 256 AC…_ **

One day shy of three weeks since leaving Castle Wyl—and 138 days since leaving King’s Landing—the royal progress arrived at Castle Yronwood in Dorne, the seat of the Dornish House Yronwood.

As Taeron dismounted from Swiftsnow, many in the courtyard dropped down to one knee and bowed their heads. Front and center were Lord Edgar Yronwood and his wife, Lady Ayleen Yronwood—formerly of House Darklyn of Duskendale in the Crownlands—and their five children: sons Ormond, Arin, and Lucan, and daughters Jaelyn and Dyanne.

Coming to stand in front of Lord Yronwood, Taeron motioned for them to stand. Once they had, Edgar bowed and said, “Welcome to Castle Yronwood, my prince.”

“Thank you, Lord Edgar,” Taeron said.

After a few more pleasantries, and Lord Edgar greeting Kevan, Dorian, Daeron, and Jeremy—and even Lewyn since Kingsguard or not, he was still a Prince of Dorne—Lady Ayleen said, “You all must be tired after your long journey. Follow me and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Taeron smiled and nodded as they headed into the castle. Taeron was momentarily confused when it seemed that Lady Ayleen somehow knew that Taeron, Kevan, and Dorian wouldn’t have a problem with sharing a room. None of them had actually spoken up and told her that.

His confusion as Lady Ayleen walked away after bowing to them must have been visible on his face, as Jeremy clasped his shoulder and said, “Dae sent a raven ahead back at Castle Wyl.”

“He did?” Taeron asked.

Jeremy nodded. “Just as the nature of your relationship with Kevan was obvious to anyone with eyes, your relationship to Dorian was equally as obvious, even back at Castle Wyl when you were in different rooms.”

Taeron blushed and asked, “I didn’t think we were that obvious, at least back at Castle Wyl.”

Jeremy laughed. “Put it this way, kid, if you were trying to hide it, you were doing a very bad job.”

Taeron nodded before he went into his room, where he found Kevan and Dorian sitting on the bed, locked in a passionate kiss. Some people might have been jealous, but Taeron only grinned at the sight, as his cock swelled.

-o-0-o-

**_Great Hall, Castle Yronwood, Dorne, Twenty-Fourth Day of the First Turn, 256 AC…_ **

Walking into the great hall the following morning, Daeron stopped dead in his tracks almost as soon as he walked into the room and smelled the various scents of the morning meal.

“Dae?” Jeremy asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Clutching his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other, Daeron doubled over and a second later, removed his hand from his mouth as he got sick all over the stone floor.

Almost immediately, the three maesters who’d accompanied the progress from King’s Landing moved forward, along with Castle Yronwood’s maester, as Jeremy gently rubbed his husband’s back, as he continued to empty his stomach on the floor.

After a moment, Daeron stopped throwing up, as he emptied his stomach. He dry heaved a few times before he began to collapse, but Jeremy caught him and hoisted him into his arms.

Maester Adarian, one of the progress’s maesters, placed his hand on Daeron’s forehead and said, “You don’t have a fever.”

“When did you begin to feel nauseous?” asked Maester Dilron, who was Castle Yronwood’s maester.

“The moment I walked into the room,” Daeron said, somewhat weakly. “And smelled food.”

“Hmm, I wonder,” Maester Brannyn, another of the progress’s maesters, began. “Prince Daeron, correct me if I’m wrong, but your dynamic allows you to both sire and carry children, does it not?”

Daeron didn’t respond, as another wave of nausea swept over him, although with nothing in his stomach, he couldn’t throw up again.

Nodding, Jeremy said, “Yes, Maester Brannyn, he can. It’s why the Faith allowed us to wed because children were possible.”

“Very well,” said Maester Jovarn, the third of the progress’s maesters. “Maester Dilron, I assume we can take him to your quarters for an examination?”

“Of course,” Dilron said, as he gestured towards the doors. “Right this way.”

After they left, one of the servants quickly began cleaning up Daeron’s sick, while Kevan leaned over to Taeron and whispered, “Looks like Uncle Dae is about to find out what we’ve known for the last three months.”

Taeron grinned and nodded.

-o-0-o-

Later that day, Taeron, Kevan, and Dorian paid a visit to Daeron’s and Jeremy’s room. The door wasn’t locked, so they let themselves in without knocking. Spying Daeron and Jeremy lying on the bed, Taeron smiled and asked, “So, how’s pregnancy treating you, Uncle Dae?”

Daeron seemed surprised as he said, “Word travels fast in this castle, doesn’t it?”

Kevan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at this response, before he asked, “You already knew didn’t you?”

Dorian held up his hand in a placating gesture, as he said, “I didn’t until this morning.”

“Taeron, Kevan?” Daeron asked as Dorian closed the door behind him, Taeron, and Kevan.

“Who us?” Taeron and Kevan asked, in innocent tones.

“Yes you,” Jeremy said. “Did you two know?”

“Yes,” Kevan answered.

“How long?” Daeron asked.

Taeron laughed. “Oh just since the day we released you from your room at Storm’s End.”

Daeron’s and Jeremy’s eyes grew comically wide at this, as they were silent for a moment before Jeremy grabbed a pillow and launched it at Taeron’s head as Daeron asked, “That long?!”

Taeron just grinned as the pillow came to an abrupt stop in midair before reversing course and hitting Jeremy square in the head.

“Oof,” Jeremy said. “I guess that’s what I get for throwing a pillow at a wizard.”

“Yes, it is,” Kevan said, as he and Dorian laughed and Taeron just grinned like an idiot.

Jeremy and Daeron joined in the laughter after a minute, before Taeron laughed as well.

Once everyone had calmed down, Jeremy asked, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We thought it would be more fun for you to find out on your own,” Kevan answered. “Besides, now it’s been confirmed by four Maesters of the Citadel that you’re with child, Uncle Dae. Let the High Septon try and say that you’re lying now.”

“Anything else you can tell us?” Jeremy asked. “I mean since you knew we were pregnant…”

“We?” Daeron asked with a lopsided grin to his husband. “I do believe only one of us is actually pregnant.”

Jeremy smiled, as he pulled Daeron closer and placed a hand on his abdomen as he kissed his lips and said, “True, however, you can’t exactly deny that I did play a role in that.”

Daeron nodded and said, “Yes, I suppose you did,” as he kissed Jeremy again, before turning to his two nephews and his first cousin—since Dorian was his Aunt Rhae’s son—and asking, “So, anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?”

“Surely the Maesters…” Kevan tried.

Shaking his head, Jeremy said, “The Maesters for all that they could confirm that Dae is indeed pregnant couldn’t tell us all that much. It’s not like they’ve got the benefit of magical scans that allowed them to know he was pregnant only days afterward.”

“What I’d most like to know,” Daeron began, “is if the baby is healthy?”

“I also wouldn’t say no to knowing the gender if you can determine that,” Jeremy added and Daeron nodded.

“You understand that you can’t share any information we give you, right?” Dorian asked. “You wouldn’t be able to explain how you had the information, after all.”

“We understand,” Daeron said, as Jeremy nodded in agreement.

“Very well,” Taeron said. “Healthy? Yes, quite healthy.”

“As for the gender,” Kevan said, with a grin, “it’s both.”

“Both?” Jeremy asked, confused. “How can it be both? Do you mean that our baby has a secondary gender like Dae?”

Dorian grinned, as after he’d been told what happened at Storm’s End, he’d discreetly cast a Diagnostic Charm on Daeron himself, just as Taeron and Kevan had both been doing periodically since leaving Storm’s End.

“More so that it’s baby plural,” Dorian said.

“Three, two, one…” Taeron counted aloud with a grin.

“PLURAL?!” Daeron and Jeremy exclaimed at the same time.

“What do you mean plural?” Jeremy asked. “You mean we’re having twins?”

Taeron, Kevan, and Dorian all shared grins at this before they turned to Daeron and Jeremy and said, in perfect unison, “No, more like triplets.”

Daeron’s and Jeremy’s eyes grew comically large again, as Daeron stuttered, “T… t… tri… trip… triplets? You mean three babies?”

“Yup,” Kevan said with a grin. “It would seem that between your forced seclusion and those fertility charms I cast, Jeremy’s seed was feeling particularly ambitious.”

“They’re fraternal triplets,” Dorian said with a smile. “A boy, a girl, and another boy… all conceived roughly a day apart.”

“They’ll all have the ability to both sire and carry,” Taeron added. “And because of the fertility charms and spells, we cast to increase your libido, well…”

“Well, what?” Jeremy asked. “Don’t leave us hanging like that!”

Kevan smiled. “There’s a chance that there might have been enough ambient magic present that the long mostly dormant Targaryen magic genes might have activated.”

“Magic genes?” Daeron asked.

“Every male or female who has a secondary gender has magic,” Dorian explained. “That magic is what allows for the co-existence of both the male and female reproductive systems in the same body and in turn allows them both to function.”

“Daeron has just enough magic to allow him to sire and carry,” Taeron added. “But not enough that he can, like Kevan, Dorian, and myself cast spells. There is a chance, however, that the ambient magic from the spells that we cast upon you had enough of a residual effect that your children could potentially have enough magic to sire and carry, but also cast spells.”

“We won’t know until you’re further along in your pregnancy if that’s the case,” Kevan added. “It’s not something that’ll show up on a magical diagnostic until you’re at least six months along.”

Jeremy nodded, as Daeron cocked his head to one side and asked, “You know, I’ve always wondered. How do you know so much about magic, Tae? I mean, I know you have magic, but it only manifested when you turned ten, and almost immediately you seemed to be able to do a lot with it. As if you’d been learning about it all your life. And now, four years later, sometimes you sound so knowledgeable and confident when you talk about it that I’d think you’ve spent a lifetime studying it.”

“The same goes for all of you, actually,” Jeremy added before Taeron, Kevan, or Dorian could respond.

The three in question glanced briefly at each other, before Taeron said, “Part of it is instinct. There’s also a good bit of trial and error.”

“And lots of reading,” Dorian said. “There are books about it in Westeros. They’re somewhat rare, of course, and often discarded by the maesters as useless, or destroyed in Baelor the Blessed's purges, but they do exist.”

“We’ve also been able to teach each other since we met,” Kevan added. “By sharing our own experiences and experiments with our powers. Things we’ve tried that worked, things that didn’t, or the knowledge that we’ve managed to read about from what books we could find. When added together, it gives all of us a better grasp on our powers.”

Daeron nodded. “Okay, I guess that makes sense.”

-o-0-o-

Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea in the Free-City of Braavos, the Faceless Men had convened in the chamber deep within the House of Black and White where they met to discuss potential assignments and dole out contract assassinations.

Leading the meeting was a man known only as ‘the Kindly Man’.

“We’ve been approached by a keyholder of the Iron Bank,” the Kindly Man said. “They inquired about hiring us to grant the gift to Ryevan Celtaris, the son of the owner of the Celtaris Bank in Lys. He’s been presented with the price for such a contract, but he hasn’t yet confirmed if he’s willing to pay the price.”

The temperature of the room suddenly dropped several degrees and all of the torches and candles lighting the room went out, leaving the room in complete darkness. After a moment, the torches relit although the occupants of the room immediately noticed that they were burning with magical black-colored flames and that all of the candles were now burning with white-colored flames.

Before anyone could respond, a voice said, “Should he decide he is willing to pay the price, you will refuse the contract.”

At this, a hooded man stepped out of the shadows, a pair of large wings—one black and one white—visible on his back. As he moved to stand at the head of the table, the Kindly Man moved aside, knowing who this newcomer was. The younger members of the order who were unaware quickly realized who it was when the newcomer lifted the corners of his hood and saw his face… as it rapidly changed before their eyes, showing many different faces within the span of only a few seconds.

“Ryevan Celtaris is to be considered to be under my personal protection and must not be granted the gift, under any circumstances, is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” the Kindly Man said, as all of the other Faceless Men present in the room nodded their heads, as they certainly weren’t willing to go against the wishes of the Many-Faced God himself.

He did not deign to visit the House of Black and White in person frequently. Hence why some newer members of the order didn’t immediately know who the hooded man was when he first appeared. But, when he did appear, his words were taken seriously, as they were literally dictated from their god's own mouth.

“Furthermore,” the hooded man said, “should anyone approach seeking a contract for any of the people on this list,” as he said this a scroll appeared in his hand, which he handed over to the Kindly Man, “I order you to refuse. Don’t even offer a price and let the petitioner know that the House of Black and White will not accept the contract or suffer the hiring of any other assassin outside of the order to carry out what you will not do.”

“Of course, my lord,” the Kindly Man said. “Your wish is our command.”

“One last thing,” the hooded man said, as he lifted his hand and pointed at one of the Faceless Men seated at the table. “You go by the name Drevyn Callith.”

It was not a question.

Drevyn nodded, but remained silent, waiting to see why his god had called him out specifically. “You are ordered to take a ship to Westeros. To Sunspear in Dorne. There you will arrange an incident that will allow you to save the life of Prince Taeron Targaryen. As he is on the list and under my protection, he must never actually be in any danger, but it must look like he is. Once you are seen to have saved his life, you are to swear yourself to his service as his sworn shield.”

“And if he doesn’t accept me?” Drevyn asked.

“He will,” the hooded man said. “Taeron is the Master of Death, and one of my favorites. One of the chosen few outside of these walls that I’ve deigned to reveal myself to. I will make sure that he knows to accept your services when they’re offered. You will guard him and keep him safe, and through your service to him, you will in time also be able to keep an eye on the other people on my list. Do not fail me.”

The hooded man fell silent at this before all of the torches and candles once again went out. A second later, an inferno of black and white flames shaped like a hooded winged man burned bright for a moment, before the temperature in the room returned to normal, as did the torches and candles.

Everyone in the room was silent for a moment before the Kindly Man nodded and said, “Well, we have our orders from our God.”

Turning to Drevyn, the Kindly Man said, “Make your preparations. You leave for Sunspear as soon as possible.”

Drevyn nodded, as he stood and left the room.

-o-0-o-

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s Ch12 of ‘The Prophecy of the Seven’. I hope you enjoyed it. I know some of you might question why I opted for the character of Drevyn Callith—an original character—instead of using Jaqen H’ghar. The reason is that this story is currently set in 256 AC… several decades before the books. Thus, if Jaqen is alive somewhere in the known world, then I’m going to assume that he’s still a child at this point and has not yet become a Faceless Man.
> 
> For those who do not follow me on Facebook, who are not members of my group, or haven’t read the most recent chapter of my Harry Potter/Addams Family crossover, you should know that I’m going to be posting two one-shots at some point in the near future which are set in this story’s universe.
> 
> These one-shots will set things up for characters from The Chronicles of Narnia and the BBC’s Merlin to enter this story, as denizens from outside of the known world. The first of these one-shots will be related to The Chronicles of Narnia and will be called ‘Once a King, Always a King’ and will be posted as soon as I finish writing it. It’s actually already longer than this chapter.
> 
> A list of Known HP Characters:  
> Taeron Targaryen = Harry Potter  
> Kevan Baratheon = Cedric Diggory  
> Dorian Nymeros-Martell = Blaise Zabini  
> Ethan Tyrell = Theodore Nott  
> Ryevan Celtaris = Ernie Macmillan  
> Jaekar Sand = Fred Weasley  
> Jaeron Sand = George Weasley  
> Arran Sand = Oliver Wood  
> Errac Sand = Regulus Black  
> Kylar Allyrion = Fabian Prewett  
> Tylar Allyrion = Gideon Prewett  
> Wynolla Brenos-Allyrion = Pandora Lovegood  
> Vaerissa Brenos-Allyrion = Luna Lovegood


End file.
